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-k Hlo.S* 




Museum of Comparative Zoology 









'Tis now Old Winter binds 
Our strengthened bodies in his cold embrace, 
Constringent ; feeds and animates our blood ; 
Refines our spirits through the new-strung nerves, 
In swifter sallies darting to the brain. 

All Nature feels the renovating force 

Of Winter. Only to the thoughtless eye • 

Is ruin seen. 





Agent foe Dublin, John "Wiseheakt; Edinburgh, J. Menzies; 
Glasgow, John M'Leod. 




N 6 

i nTnti+umairitmtJipm 


Albeit we are an avowed enemy of Fashion, yet do we vastly 
approve the fashion that recognises a short Preface. 

All we need say, on issuing a Fourth Volume, lies in a nut- 
shell. Our friends are now so numerous — our fair fame is so extensive 
— and our Information, gathered from all parts of the World, is so 
interesting — that we have only to tender our best thanks to those who 
have so bravely supported us ; and to express the hope that we shall 
win even more laurels ere we meet again. 

The Contents of this Volume speak for themselves. An 
endeavor has been made to render them amusing as instructive. To 
produce, and arrange the subjects, has been a labor of love ; and if our 
readers feel, whilst perusing them, one twentieth part of the pleasure 
we have experienced whilst preparing them for the public eye, — then 
will our fondest hopes be realised. 


New Road, Hammersmith, 
January 2nd, 1854. 


Air, Value of, to the Roots of Plants, 2 50 

Animal and Vegetable Sensation, 53 

Ant, The, 356 

Ants and Earwigs, to Destroy, 189 

Arabian Scenery, 121 

Ardent Spirits, 198,312, 373 

"Art" of Advertising, The, 222, 367 

Art, Triumph of, 334 

Ass, The, 63 

Atmosphere and its Pressure, 141 

Australia. Natural History of, 323 

Auto-Biography of a Dog, 39, 107, 168, 234, 296, 

Awful Interrogative, An, 223 
Aztec Children, The, 31, 301 
Bad Temper, 32 
Baldness, Causes of, 87 
Beauty, analysed by " Walter," 317 
Bees, 56, 59, 121, 124, 186, 188, 227 
Birds, British Song, Acclimated in the United 

States, 213, 289 

Confined in Cages, 253 

Eyes of, 250 

Our " Noble," 357 

Their Dislike to White Fruit, 60 

Provincial Names of, 249 

Vocal Machinery of, 121 

Black Beetles, 52 

Blessing, The, of Pure Water, 185 

Blindness, Thoughts on, 160 

Boring Shells, 123 

Botanical Notes, — Salcombe Aloes, &c, 325 

Bronchitis, Cure for, 254 

Bullfinch, The, 251 

Butter, Statistics of, 120 

Canaries Living in the Open Air, 252 

Capercailzie, or Cock of the Woods, 27 

Cat, The, 51, 115, 122, 191, 246, 319, 373, 374 

Cats and Mesmerism, 374 

Cedar, The, 11, 127 

Chaffinch, A Eemarkable White, 219, 318 

Cheap Penny Publications, — The Curse of the 

Land, 266 
China and the Chinese, 324 
Chinese Primrose, 126 
Chloroform as a Motive Power, 255 
Cold, How to Cure a, 252 
Convents, and Similar Abominations, 10, 24, 77 

" The Agapemone," 10 

Cricket, The, 189 

Cruelty to Animals, 137, 283, 312, 327, 340 

Crystal Palace, at Sydenham, The, 55, 181 

Cuckoo, The, 276 

Cypress, The, 124 

Dardanelles, The, 254 

Delicacy, " Extraordinary " Instance of, 192 

Destructive Insects, 54 

Dog, The, 39, 41, 42, 107, 109, 168, 172, 234, 

236, 249, 296, 298, 361, 363, 374 
Duration of Human Life, Averaged, 120 
Earth, The, An Ocean of Melted Rock, 56 
Earthquakes in the Tropics, 125 
Echoes, Remarkable, 64, 249 
England, Good by Compulsion, 245 
England's National Failing, 32 
English Climate, The, 254, 335 

Cottage, An, 264 

Modesty, 91 

Engravings Copied by Iodine, 119 


Autumnal Ramble, by " Our Editor," 209 ; Christ- 
mas, 281, 295, 301, 305, 320, 352 ; Clouds of 
Heaven, The, 260; Condescension, 81 ; Death, 
The, of Summer, 214 ; Death Viewed as Sleep, 
17 ; Education of Women in England and 
America, 142 ; Essay on Good Taste, 68 ; 
Fashionable Weddings, 272 ; Fashionable Fol- 
lies, 273 ; First Oyster Eater, The, 95 ; Gen- 
tleness and its Power, 5 ; Golden Rules of Life, 
198 ; Hints to Fast Men, 22 ; Hospitals of 
London, 259; How to make Home " Happy," 
221 ; Human Heart, The, 193 ; Journey of Life, 
The, 270; Little Children, 161; "Little 
Things," 159, 319, 337 ; Loves and the 
Graces, 143 ; Man's Weak Point, 330 ; 
Musings by a Benedict, 7 ; Nature's Master- 
piece, the Mechanism of the Human Body, 
65 ; Notes upon Notes, 129, 273 ; Our Mirror 
of the Months, 34, 102, 171, .232, 294, 350, 
353 ; Our Moral Nature, 365 ; Past, Present, 
and Future, 321 ; Puffing Husbands and 
Patient Wives, 74 ; Study of Natural His- 
tory, 257 ; Summer, and more of its " Con- 
sequences," 26 ; Thoughts on a Few Drops of 
Water, 93 ; To-day and To-morrow, 197 ; 
Travelling at Home and Abroad, 179; What 
do we all Live for ? 1 ; Wife, The, of a Literary 
Man, 131; Wives, Useful and Useless, 86; 
Women and Novels, 265 ; World's Kindness, 
The, 203 ; Wrong Letter-Box, The, 66. 

Essex Lunatic Asylum, 255 
Every Thing has its Use, 16 
Excitement and its Charms, 15 
Faith and Friendship, 60 
"Fashion's" Devilries, 190,318 
Female Figure, The, 246, 368 
Ferns, The Cultivation of, 303 
Fish, Artificial Production of, 182, 875 

Affection of, 126 

Florists' Flowers, 53 

Flowers and their Influences, 33, 62, 78- 

How to make them Bloom, 121 

Fly-Catchers, A Pair of Remarkable, 220 

Forced Fruits and Vegetables, 88 

Fossil Turtle, A, 252 

Frog, The, 119 

Fruit, Its Use and Abuse, 279 

Fruits and Flowers, Degeneracy in Races of, 125 

Gentleman, Definition of A, 273 

Glove-Making Machine, 61 

Gnats,To Destroy, 118 

Goats in Switzerland, 341 

Goldfinch, A Tame, 220 

Mules, 53 

Gold Fish, 376 

Gossamer, The, 130 

Grass Lawns, 61 

Gravel Walks, Advantages of, 256 

Great Cedar of Hammersmith, 11 

Ground-Fish, The, of Bootan, 57 

Habit, Thoughts on, 72 

Hackney Carriage Act, 59 

Haddock, The, 61 

Hawking,— The Heron, 42, 94 

Heated Vessels, A Paradox, 110 

Herring, The, 252 

Hints to Amateur Gardeners, 48, 111, 174, 238, 

251, 252, 254, 256, 304, 346 
Home Birds in Foreign Lands, 213, 289, 318 
Horse, The, 317 
Horse-hair Eel, The, 58 
House-Marten, 273 
Howqua's Own Tea-Garden, 242 
Human Frame, The, 355 
Hyacinths, and Early Tulips, 224 
Hybridising of Plants, 152 
Innocence of Childhood, 335 
Insanity, 248 

Insects,— Deilephila Elpenor, 128, 189 
Insect Life, 44 

Strength, 117 • 

Instinct and Reason, 139, 284 

Interrogative, An Awful, 223 

Intoxication in India, 135 

Jealous People, 22 

Jeannette, The Amiable Monkey, 132 

Judgment applied to Education, 90 

King-fisher, The, 57 

Leaves of Trees, Impressions from, 125, 189 

Life and Beauty in Damascus, 75 

in an Oyster, 125 

Light and Air, Importance of, 32 
Lightning, Importance of, 251 
Literary Labor, — Drudgery, 374 
Live and Let Live, 1 36 
Lobster, Notes on The, 339 
Love and Jealousy, 22, 60 
Lunacy, 56 

Masculine and Feminine, 62 
Medical Quackery, 123 

Men and Monkeys, 154, 273 
Mesmerism, 313, 374 
Mignonette Trees, 123 
Minuteness of Matter, 62 


Absence, 223 ; Action, 27 ; Affection, 227 ; Bash- 
fulness, 117 ; Begin Well and End Well, 128 ; 
Botanical Gardens, Manchester, 189; Candor, 
311; Charity, 352, 357; Cheerfulness, 32; 
Childhood, 268, 315, 334 ; Clouds and Sun- 
shine, 88 ; Cold, To guard against, 317 ; Com- 
panions, 47 ; Confiding Hearts of Women, 253 ; 
Cure for Burns, 315; Cure for Cramp, 313; 
Cure for Gout, 374; Cure for Lumbago, 315 ; 
Cure for Scalds, 315; Cure for Tender Feet, 
188 ; Curious Petrifaction, 248 ; Cypress, a 
Large, 317; Dust, Value of, 319 ; Employment, 
374; Epitaph on an Infant, 262 ; Fallacies, 16 ; 
Folly and Wisdom, 312; First Love, 7 1 ; Force, 
Doctrine of, 311 ; Forgiveness, 317 ; Frankness, 
371 ; Full Purses and Hard Hearts, 368; Fur, 
Warmth of, 313 ; Game, Directions for Packing, 
247 ; Gold Fish, 376 ; Golden Sun, The, 357 ; 
Good Actions, 36; Goodness, 67, 228; Hap- 
piness, 330 ; Hearts must be Won not Forced, 
242 ; Human Sorrow, 72, 84 ; Humility, 339 ; 
Immorality of the Age, 243 ; Justice and Mercy, 
52 ; Language of Nature, 314 ; Love, 112, 
123 ; Marvellously-Proper Man, A, 25 ; Mis- 
seltoe, The, 295, 315, 319, 320; Modesty, 117 ; 
Nature's Eloquence, 82 ; New Planet, 313 ; 
" Odd," but True, 325 ; Odor of Flowers, 371; 
Optical Appearance, 181 ; Our Old English 
Writers, 135; Poetry and Its Influences, 318; 
Preaching, Object of, 318; Prudence, 43; 
Prudery, 117; Putrefaction, 187; Religion, 16, 
22 ; Remembrance, 202 ; Revenge, 208 ; Science 
and Revelation, 375 ; Sea Soundings, 317 ; 
Selfishness and Brutality, 106 ; Self-interest, 
50, Singular Epitaph, 55; "Spinsters," 190; 
Stirrup-Cup, 314; Strife, 44; Suggestions by 
Steam, 295 ; Summer and Winter, 269, 318 ; 
Sweet Melancholy, 83 ; Tact, 231 ; Taste, 7 ; 
Tears and Laughter, 323; Titmouse, Nest of the 
Great, 317; True Greatness, 89; True Ladder 
of Knowledge, 355 ; Use, Second Nature, 153 ; 
Variegated Leaves, 188, 252 ; Vice, 134, 333 ; 
Wet Clothes, 288 ; Who is the Most Unhappy? 
224 ; Who shaU Decide ? 185 ; Worldly 
Pleasure, 96. 

Mistaken Charity, 337, 351 

Mock Modesty, 124 

Mocking Bird, The, 371 

Mole, The, 56 

Mont Blanc, 150, 246, 375 

Morning Air, The, 2 

Moths, To Drive away, 55 

Mount Vesuvius, 24 

Mountains of the Moon, 93 

Mulberry Tree, The, 60, 188 

Music, Its Effect in Insanity, 248 

Nature's Gift to Man and Beast, 354 

" Naturalists," — Improperly so called, 283, 340 

New Year's Dinner, A, 376 

Niagara, Scene at, 90 

Notes on the Season, Nov. and Dec, 372 

Nuthatch, Nest of The, 149 

Oak, The Evergreen, 128 

Obituary, — Professor Adrien de Jussieu, 58 

Observation, — Value of, 125 

Ocean, The, and Its Colors, 27, 92 

Oil from Tobacco Seed, 54 

Ostrich, The, 250 

Owl, The, 127, 248, 318 

Oxygen Gas, 127 

Palm Tree, The, 314 

Parasitical Plants, 61 

Parrots, 52, 53, 186 

"Penny-Wise, "&c,89 

People who do not like Poetry, 12 

Perfumery and the Fair Sex, 64 

Photography, 190, 345 

Phrenology for the Million, 37, 104, 165, 229 

291, 358 
Pigeons, Affection of, 317 
Pitcher Plant, The, 57 
Plants Sprinkled with Water, 122 

Motion of, 58 

in Bed rooms, 119 

Poultry, 54, 59, 121, 176, 240, 252, 314, 343 


" Address " by the " Devonshire Dove," 339 ; 
Alas, that he should Die! 200; Bachelor's 
Dream, The, 84 ; "Beauty!" 362; Birth-day 
Song, 212; Bright Summer Days are Gone, 
277 ; Bright Vision, A, 88 ; Come let us part 
with lightsome Heart, 197 ; Could I but find 
on Earth a Spot, 222; Dead Sparrow, The, 
208 ; Dead Kose, The, 360 ; Decay of Nature, 
205; Dying Year, The, 258; Evening Hour, 
29 ; Expansive Heart, The, 350 ; Fairy King, 
367 ; Fall of the Leaf, 196 ; Farewell to Sum- 
mer, 227 ; Fate of the Oak, 194 ; Flowers on 
the Tomb, 89 ; Fond Hearts ! Listen, 366 ; 
Forget thee ? Never ! 354 ; Fortune and Love, 
8 ; Gentle Words, 53 ; God, I thank thee for 
thy Blessing, 335; God made the World, 132; 
Hark! 'Tis the Voice of Summer, 10; Heads 
and Hearts, 77 ; Helen ! leave thy Silken 
Thread, 23 ; Holiness of Night, 116; Holyrood, 
144; Home, 352; Hopes, 10; Human Life, 
200; Hymn of the City, 119; I Said,— you 
Vowed, 351; I sigh for the Land, 154; If Life 
be ever Pleasant, 349; It is the Song my 
Mother sings, 330 ; I would not wish thee back, 
my Boy, 219; Invitation to the Country,20; Joys 
of Life, 164 ; Ladies and their "Yes," 21 ; Light 
and Shade, 238; Lines to Mary, 290; Life a 
Vapor, 355; Live and Let Live, 80; Love for 
Me and You, 288 ; Loved-one's Day, The, 26; 
Love and Constancy, 87; Love Song, A, 256 ; 
Maiden's Dream, 73 ; Maidens ! take Heed, 
170 ; Make Hay while the Sun shines, 4 ; 
Music of falling Water, 204 ; My Love is not 
a Beauty, 299; Nature's own Charade, 135; 
New Year's Day, 322; No More! 80, 87 ; Ode 
to December, 301 ; Ode to Woman, 280; O! 
Sing again that touching Song, 47 ; One Glass 
More ! 14 ; Over the Grass, 157 ; Past and 
Present, 260 ; Path of Duty, 147 ; Pledge me a 
Health, 365 ; Praise, 11 ; Primrose in Autumn, 
300; Quiet Hour, The, 29; Kainbow, The, 
139; Eesignation, 356; School and Summer, 
12; Smiles, 72; Soon I shall hear my Mother's 
Voice, 348 ; Three Voices, The, 44 ; Time and 
Love, 266; To my "Dove," 366; To a Wife 
and Children Sleeping, 240 ; To my 
Soul's Idol, 168; True Friendship, 69; 

True Happiness, 68; Village Lovers, The, 
275; Voice from the Church Bells, 90; 
What I Love, 78 ; Winter Nights for Me! 279; 
With Koses Musky Breathed, 87 ; Woman's 
Love, 91 ; Woman's Smile, 92 ; Woulds't thou 
be Mine, 136. 

Poetry, Charms of, 86, 133 

Poisonous Fish, 118 

Proposed New Park" on Hampstead Heath, 50 

Quackery in England, 255 

Eailway Acts and Bills, &c, 255 

Ramble in Darenth Wood, 83 

Rananculuses in Winter, 53 


AB C Railway Guide, 286 ; Boys and their Rulers, 
347; Cyclopaedia of Poetical Quotations, 153 ; 
"Dowsing Fork," The, 342; Fanny Fern's 
Portfolio, 217 ; Ferguson's Poultry Book, 343; 
Glenny's Garden Almanack, 346 ; Hardwicke's 
New Plan of Publishing, 344 ; Hogg's In- 
structor, 287 ; Illustrated London Almanac, 
348; Illustrated London Magazine, 214, 284, 
341 ; Lady's Almanac, 342 ; Mcintosh's Book 
of the Garden, 151; Naturalist, The, 94, 148, 
216,283, 339; New Quarterly Review, 217 ; 
Prince Arthur's Alphabet, 348 ; Story of Mont 
Blanc, 146 ; Thornthwaite's Guide to Photo- 
graphy, 345 ; White's Selborne, by Sir W. 
Jardine, 345. 

Music : — Sailing on the Summer Sea, 192 ; 
I love the Spring, 218 ; Davidson's Musical 
Treasury, 348; Hail! Prince Albert, 348 — 
Hammersmith Concerts, The "Black Swan" 
&c, 315— Exeter-Hall Concerts, 349. 

Reading at Meal Times, 120 

Robin, The, 318, 373 

Roman Coins, 127 

Rook, The, 216 

Roses, 59, 122, 186, 187 

Sea-side Manoeuvres, 52 

Sea Worm, The, 189 

Seeds, Germination of Old, 125 

Sensitive Plant, The, 53 

Shark, The, 184 

Shrike, The, Red-backed, 283 

Silkworm, The, 97 

Skylark, A Remarkable, 219, 319 

Sleep, 127 

Snow Storm in May, 84 

Soap Plant, The, 192 

Sole, The, 126 

Somnambulisim, 269 

South Africa, Life in, 28 

Sparrow Hawk, The, 55 

Spider, The, 128, 248 

Sprains, Cure for, 124 

Squirrel, The, 220 

Stainbro', and. its Feathered Tribes, 247 

Stars, Light of The, 364 

Stickleback, The, 148 

Stimuli, The Uses of, 202 

Strange Fish, 125 

Summer Deiectabilities, Pic-nics, &c, 29 

Enjoyments, 118 

Sun, Power of the, 254 
Suspended Animation, 60 
Suspicious People, 22 


Swallow, The, 62, 127, 318 

Swan, The, 145, 256 

Table-Moving, 45, 63 

New Theory of, by Lunatics, 373 


Blackberry Pudding, A, 241 ; Broken Heart, The, 
113; Christmas Disaster, A, 305; Compli- 
ments of the Season, 332 ; Eccentric Natural- 
ist, The, 157 ; Edith May (with a moral), 217 ; 
Eashionable Secrets (the Honeymoon), 177; 
Fashionable Weddings, 272 ; Plum-Pudding 
Island, 369; PracticalJokes, 149. 

Tadpole, The, 119 

Tame Animals, A Chapter on, 192 

Tenacity of Life in a Fowl, 192 

Tench, The, 126 

Thermometers, How to Compare, 124 

Toad, The, 119 

Toad-Fish, The, 187 

Tom-tit, Song of the, 149, 248 

Nest of the Great, 317 

Turbot, The, 255 

Turtle Dove, The, 51 

Umbrellas and Sticks, 63 

Vaccination, 121 

Vegetable Life, Curiosities of, 356 

Vegetable Physiology, 3, 70, 195, 250 

Vegetation, Prolific Power of, 355 

Ventilation, Importance of, 262 

Village Tea Party, A, 20 

Vinegar Plant, The, 200 

Visit to Mucross Abbev, 13 

Vulgar Error,—" Blind as a Mole," 266 

Walton Hall, A Visit to, 205 

Wasp, Notes on the, 225 

Water Cresses, 52, 61 

What do we all Live for ? 1, 349, 375 

White Wax, Fses of, 56 

Wild Dog Spearing in India, 155 

Wives and Money, 366 

Woody Fibre, Tenacity of, 55 

Woman, — Her Form; How to be Preserved 

" Beautiful," 368 
Woman's Mission, 300 
Women of China, 144 

Spaiu, 134 

Women-Cricketers (!) 64 

Works of Art, and Public Morals, 308 

World, The, and Its Maker, 223 

Yew Trees, 11, 80 

Zoological Folk Lore, No. III., 278 
Zoology, On the Study of, 365 


What's " Life ?" At best a wandering breath ; 

When saddest, but a passing sigh ; 
When happiest, but a summer wreath— 

A sigh of roses floating by. 


HEERFULNESS, it is well- 

We hate long faces ; and where- 
ever we find them, we zealously 
set to work to reduce them to 
the shortest possible length, 
in the quickest possible time. 
We do this on the great principle, — for in 
order to be " happy" we must be cheerful. 
The one is the natural consequence of the 
other. In all that flows from our pen, we 
try to establish this truth. 

Yet with all our cheerfulness, let it not be 
imagined that we are, or can be, indifferent 
to the scenes that are daily passing around 
us, or that we fail to sympathise largely with 
what we are necessitated to witness in the 
way of sorrow. He who is the possessor of 
" a heart," has enough to do, if he live in 
London, to control the emotions which that 
heart must feel between sunrise and the close 
of day. 

It may be said, that all people have hearts. 
They have truly; but all hearts are not 
tender alike. That which causes one to 
sigh, will more frequently produce merriment 
in another. We see this, whenever we walk 
abroad ; and blush for our race. 

We have headed this paper — " What do 
we all Live for ?" We are not going to say 
what we all ought to live for. Our sentiments 
on this matter are impressed upon every 
page of our Journal. We are going to 
speak of that which is. 

At no season of the year more appropri- 
ately than the present, could we take obser- 
vations. Every street is full of life and 
motion; all the shops are attractively set 
out; every temptation that can catch the 
eye, and draw the purse-string, is exhibited 
in the windows. Let us watch the passers- 
by. m The tempter has but to tempt, and his 
victim is bagged ! 

Just now, amusements and excursions are 
the order of the day. We see multitudes of 
people flocking in all directions; commencing 
at early dawn to meet the various steam- 
boats and railway- trains. Every face be- 
tokens excitement. All seem bent on plea- 
sure. If they have but one five-shilling-piece 
in the world, there are many we wot of who 
would spend it to its last farthing. This is 
to carry out their " great principle," — for, be 
it known, there is a great principle attaching 
to all grades of society, — but whether a bad 
or a good principle, we do not say. 

Thought, reflection, prudence, economy, 
foresight — rule very little among " the peo- 
ple" in August. " Fun" must be had. Care 
must be banished. " The great folk have 
gone out of town, so must we." And away 
they go ! 

Now we are not against these amusements 
of the people. Far from it. W T e would pro- 
mote them to the fullest extent. We love to 
see all the world " happy." It is to the view 
they take of "happiness" that we demur. 
We want to see their joys more natural, their 
ideas more rational, their description of a 
"pleasant day" a little more refined. At 
present — eating, drinking, smoking, and 
romping, are their summum bonum of enjoy- 

As for the devotees of fashion, — our re- 
marks can never reach them. They live 
for fashion only. They care for nothing 
save appearances. They do not deny it. 
We note their sufferings day after day, and 
smile at the ennui which attends them in 
their strict routine of severe duties. They 
dwell in an atmosphere of their own. They 
are not free agents, but move quite at the 
will of others. Men, women, and children, 
pass us daily, whose countenances but too 
plainly indicate how unenviable is the life 
they lead. Hypocrisy, — conventional hypo- 
crisy, — sways every action of their life. They 
have a face for everybody (etiquette demands 
this), and are, we imagine, glad to tear off 
the mask at midnight. It must be a terrible 
part to play! Downright hard work. 
Drudgery. But let us proceed. 

Whilst those of whom we have been speak - 

Vol. IV.— 1. 


ing are squandering away fortunes in the pur ■ 
chase of new bonnets, ribbons, fashionable 
dresses, &c. ; visiting exhibitions, attending 
concerts, making morning calls, and frittering 
away their time amidst unceasing gaiety, 
frivolity, &c, — let us take a peep at other 
passers by — all children of one great Father. 

Note those poor emaciated, sickly girls, 
hurrying along with large paper boxes. 
Those boxes contain what they have been 
sitting up night after night to finish, in order 
that the painted butterflies of fashion we 
have made mention of may be rendered still 
more gaudily attractive. These poor, pale 
girls, are "in the habit " of sitting up night 
after night. They are used to it ! What 
care the gaudy, glittering butterflies? No- 
thing! "The Slaveys are paid for what 
they do." 

And see those care-worn countenances, 
that ever and anon flit past us. Does not each 
one of them tell of a heart consuming with 
sorrow? And who shall say what that sor- 
row is ? Perhaps a sick husband, a sick wife, 
a sick child, or a dying parent, are awaiting 
anxiously the issue of that hurrying step. 
Application, most probably, is about to be 
made for the payment of a small bill — long 
since overdue. The applicant is anticipating 
a rebuff, and too well knows what he has 
every reason to expect. Alas ! What are 
mankind made of? Hearts are broken daily, 
by the hundred ; simply because people will 
not be honest enough to pay what they owe ! 
It has become "a crime" to ask for one's 

But why need we multiply cases of sorrow? 
Daily is the bell heard "tolling" for the 
dead. Daily are funeral processions passing 
in array before us. Daily are pictures of 
sorrow, starvation, and horror, haunting us 
at every step, — still is the game of life played 
merrily out. Nothing seems to soften a heart 
naturally callous. Selfishness and exclusive- 
ness close the door against all sympathy. 
Sad, but true ! 

Such is the world ! But are there no 
exceptions ? Yes ; thank God there are. 
Whilst Mammon holds his court in public, 
there are many secret angels of mercy tracing 
out the abodes of sorrow, and ministering to 
the necessities of the unfortunate. No record 
is there in the newspapers of their good deeds ; 
neither knoweth their right hand what is 
done by the left. This is true charity. Do 
not let it be imagined for one moment that 
our remarks have reference to those well- 
meaning, but misguided, silly Englishwomen, 
who, at all hours (seasonable or otherwise), 
rush hither and thither, distributing a parcel 
of "Tracts." Surely not! We allude to 
something more sensible, something more 
rational, something more pure and holy. 
The love of praise too often rules the one ; 

the other proceeds from a purer fountain. 
We allude to those who — 

Do good by stealth, — and blush to find it fame. 

Our much-loved correspondent, "Fores- 
tiera," has placed hi our hands facts con- 
nected with the labors of certain religious 
women, that cause us to love the sex better 
than ever- She has arrayed her facts in the 
simple garb of truth. The narrative is un- 
adorned, but sweetly eloquent. Her examples 
are worthy of imitation. It is true they relate 
not to England. We wish they did ! But 
they are pleasing proofs of what may be 
done, and is done, by many a noble-hearted 
woman. We care not where she dwells. 

It is sad that we should require to be 
taught by foreigners what is " our duty to- 
wards God and our fellow-creatures." Yet 
do the documents sent us by "Forestiera " 
prove that we have much to learn in this 
matter. Self-denial, privation, poverty, and 
devotion, prevail largely abroad. Can this be 
said truly of England ? Hardy indeed must 
he be, who would dare to assert it ! 

No ! We who inhabit a " Christian land," 
must hide our heads when any searching 
inquiry be made touching our " self-sacri- 
fices." Our lives are patent to all. Whilst 
human misery dogs our footsteps wherever 
we tread, we pass on, Levite like, — without 
feeling much, if any compassion, for the suf- 
ferer (unless, indeed, our names are to be 
printed up). Our pleasures must not be in- 
terfered with, — nor our amusements inter- 
rupted. In a word, " Charity begins at 
home." Is it not so? 

Surely we shall be pardoned for having 
raised the question, — " What do we all Live 
for." Life never could have been bestowed 
upon us for the unworthy purpose to which 
we are in the habit of applying it. 

Let us reflect upon this. 


There is something in the morning air that, 
while it defies the penetration of our proud and 
shallow philosophy, adds brightness to the blood, 
freshness to life, and vigor to the whole frame. 
The freshness of the lip, by the way, is, accord- 
ing to Dr. Marshall Hall, one of the surest marks 
of health. If you would be well, therefore — if you 
would have your heart dancing gladly, like the 
April breeze, and your blood flowing like an 
April brook — up with the lark — "the merry 
lark," as Shakspeare calls it, which is " the 
ploughman's clock," to warn him of the dawn — 
up and breakfast on the morning air — fresh with 
the odor of budding flowers, and all the fragrance 
of the maiden spring. Up, up from your nerve- 
destroying down bed, and from the foul air pent 
within your close-drawn curtains, and, with the 
sun, " walk o'er the dew of yon high eastern 




No. II. — The Structure op Plants. 

There is something peculiarly tempt- 
ing to the mind in the study of the minute 
structure of organic life ; to look into the 
secrets hidden from the vulgar gaze, as it 
were, in the silent counsels of the Creator. 
In the pursuit of this knowledge, the student 
feels the light buoyancy of spirits which 
characterise our earliest searches after truth. 
With genuine simplicity he feels himself a 
child again ; listening to the mysterious re- 
velations of the Father of all Truth. Aye ; 
and with his microscope in his hand, he is in 
a fairer way for Heaven than the professed 
theologian with his empiric distinctions of 
doctrine and discipline. 

Simplicity is the great leading trait in all 
the works of nature ; and never is this truth 
more beautifully illustrated than in the 
branch of science of which we are treating. 
So simple indeed is the structure of plants, 
and even of animals, that we might sum up 
by stating that a round little globe, a minia- 
ture bladder — a cell, represents all life, all 
action, all sensation, even the throne of in- 
telligence. To illustrate this proposition, 
let us suppose that we have a thin section of 
some succulent vegetable substance — say a 
tuberous root ; and subjecting it to a magni- 
fying power of some two-hundred diameters, 
what have we then? The field of the 
microscope, which in reality does not exceed 
a pin's head in size, is covered by a piece of 
netting about two inches across. This net- 
ting is the cellular structure of which the 
plant is composed. Each cell was originally 
separate, and had a distinct covering to it- 
self; being in fact a bladder, though so 
small, that it would require from three hun- 
dred to a thousand of them (placed in single 
file) to make up one linear inch. Cork, the 
outer bark of a species of oak, is composed 
of this tissue, and was found by Hooke to 
contain more than one thousand cells in the 
length of an inch. Little indeed do we ima- 
gine that a piece of this substance (an inch 
each way), is made up of 1,000,000,000 dis- 
tinct cells, all possessed of individual as well 
as conjoint life. 

In the example supposed to be under our 
microscope, we see no evidence of the mass 
being made up of hollow spheres. The ap- 
pearance presented is merely that of a piece 
of net-work, exhibiting dark thread-like 
lines, crossing each other at somewhat re- 
gular angles, enclosing clear spaces — gene- 
rally six-sided. These spaces are the cells ; 
the membrane of which is so delicate as to 
be invisible, unless when placed edgeways to 
the eye. So that it follows, as a matter of 

course, that we cannot see that part on 
which we look perpendicularly. This phe- 
nomenon is well illustrated by a piece of 
window-glass. We know that, as it is 
usually presented to our gaze it is invisible, 
save by reflections from its surface, or the 
occurrence of some foreign body on it ; but 
turn the edge to the eye, and instead of 
being colorless and perfectly transparent, it 
becomes colored and almost opaque. 

The structure which we have just exami- 
ned is the simplest form of vegetable tissue ; 
and is supposed to be the parent of all other 
forms. It is principally found in very suc- 
culent tubers and roots, fruit, in the flower, 
pith, and bark. The original form of the 
cell is said to be spherical ; but from various 
causes, this form becomes changed by pres- 
sure. The cells change to square, oblong, 
many-sided ; and indeed to an infinitude of 
shapes. One change, however, is more de- 
terminate than the rest, i. e., from the spheri- 
cal to the tubular. In physiological lan- 
guage, from the cellular to the vascular. 

Let us now take as a second object, a 
fine section, cut lengthways, from the first 
year twig of a tree ; and placing it under our 
microscope, we have a decided change of 
scene. True we have still the net -work of 
cells ; but in addition to them, we discover a 
number of tubes running in a parallel course 
between them ; some retaining a uniform 
thickness throughout, and others gradually 
tapering down to a pointed extremity. These 
tubes, or vessels, are never found in the 
lower class of plants — as mushrooms, sea- 
weeds, and mosses ; and occur most plenti- 
fully in such as form woody stems, as trees 
and shrubs. Their purpose is two-fold ; they 
serve as canals through which the fluids pass, 
and they give solidity and strength to the 
structure. Foremost among the strength- 
giving, are those which taper towards the 
extremity. They are by far the shortest of 
all the vessels ; their length seldom exceed- 
ing from twelve to twenty times their 
breadth. They are called fusiform or 
spindle-shaped, from their tapering at each 
end, and make up almost the entire bulk of 

Occasionally, both cells and vessels pre- 
sent beautiful markings on their surface. 
Sometimes, they appear as if a band had 
been carefully wrapped round their exterior, 
and then they are called spiral cells or 
vessels, as the case may be. At other times, 
this ribbon seems broken up in pieces, and 
instead of a regular corkscrew-like appear- 
ance on a vessel, only a number of rings are 
visible. Or the breaking may go still fur- 
ther, and a few bars alone remain ; giving the 
idea, when looked at through the micro- 
scope, of a ladder. Only one step further 
is necessary, and all definite marking is lost 


in a confused aggregation of dots or spots. 
Another kind of marking is more worthy of 
notice. It occurs exclusively on the spindle- 
shaped tissue ; or rather, the woody-fibre. 
A row of round dots run perpendicularly 
down the tube, each surrounded by a dark 
ring. Occasionally, the row is double, as in 
the case of a tribe of pines inhabiting 
southern Chili and New Zealand. Indeed, 
this punctuated woody tissue occurs only in 
the pine tribe. 

All the varieties of tissue to which we 
have heretofore alluded, possess regular 
forms ; but now we come to one of another 
class. This form is called the milk-vessels, 
from their containing a thick fluid, often of 
a milky whiteness. Plants which bleed 
freely upon being cut, — as the dandelion, 
poppy, lettuce, celandine, and India-rubber 
tree, are rich in this form of tissue ; and in 
the thinner portions of many of them, it may 
be detected, resembling irregularly-branched 
veins, through which a granular fluid is seen 
coursing. These branched, or milk-vessels, 
are the least frequently met with of all 

Out of these cells and vessels, then, all 
plants, and parts of plants, are composed ; 
and to these may they be reduced by means 
of the microscope. Eut every part of a 
plant is not built alike; the materials are 
similar, but in some the workmanship is 
finer than in others. The flower which seems 
to be the master-piece of nature's excellence, 
has a most delicate structure. It is com- 
posed almost exclusively of cells, which, in 
the case of tulips and lilies, are somewhat 
elongated; but, hi the majority of other 
plants, approximate to the angular-spherical. 
These cells are perfectly transparent, but 
contain in their interiors rich colors of a 
wonderful diversity of tint ; giving to the 
whole petal the strip, or dot, or the scarcely 
perceptible blush which suffuses its fair 
cheek. Few florists would credit the fact, 
that to produce the flame on a tulip petal, 
thousands of cavities have to be rilled with 
purples, reds, crimsons, pinks, oranges, yel- 
lows, and saffron, of every variety of shade, 
from the deepest to the lightest. The 
flowers of some plants contain, besides cells, 
a number of milk-vessels ; a few also ex- 
hibit an intermixture of the stronger vessels. 
The dandelion is an example of the former, 
and Banksia of the latter. 

The leaf is composed of cells, through 
which ramify a multitude of vascular bun- 
dles. These bundles are distinctly observ- 
able externally ; and are variously known as 
the nerves, veins, and ribs. The latter is 
certainly the least objectionable title of the 
three, as the purpose of these bundles is to 
give strength to the leaf's expanse; while 
the fact of the plant being destitute of sen- 

sation, and these bundles then performing 
no prominent part in the circulation, denies 
them any claim to be called nerves, or veins. 
The cells in the leaf contain a waxy sub- 
stance, of a green color ; which, shining 
through the transparent covering, gives the 
verdant hue to the leaf. The flower and leaf, 
as indeed almost all parts of the plant, are 
covered by a thin, transparent skin, which 
consists generally of a layer of flattened 
cells. This comes easily off with the knife, 
and must be familiar to all your readers. 
On the lower surface of leaf, situated in this 
thin skin or epidermis, are to be noticed 
some of the most beautiful objects which 
the microscope has yet revealed to us. These 
are the stomata. Of their functions, I shall 
have occasion to speak in a future paper. 
These mouths, or stomata, vary in size and 
form almost as much as cells do ; they con- 
sist of a rounded oblong, or angled opening, 
bounded by from two to a dozen cells. In- 
ternally, they communicate with cavities be- 
tween the cells, and serve as doors for the 
admission and ejection of gaseous substances. 
So many as one hundred and sixty thousand 
of these openings have been counted on one 
square inch of lilac-leaf. They generally 
occur on the under surface exclusively ; 
though, in a few plants, they appear equally 
on both sides of the leaf. 

Particulars regarding the structure of the 
root and stem, will be found in the next 
paper. D. 


The sun is bright, the air is clear, 
The darting swallows soar and sing ; 

And from the stately elms I hear 
The blue-bird prophesying spring. 

So blue yon winding river flows, 
It seems an outlet from the sky ; 

Where, waiting till the west wind blows, 
The freighted clouds at anchor lie. 

All things are new ; the buds, the leaves, 
That gild the elm trees-nodding crest, 

And e'en the nests beneath the caves ; 
There are no birds in last year's nest ! 

All things rejoice in youth and love, 
The fullness of their first delight ; 

And learn from the soft Heavens above 
The melting tenderness of night. 

Maiden ! who read'st this simple rhyme, 
Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay ; 

Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, 
For oh ! it is not always May. 

Enjoy the spring of love and youth, 
To some good angel leave the rest ; 

For time will teach thee soon the truth, 
There are no birds in last year's nest. 

H. W. L. 



A woman's — nay, a little child's soft hand, 
With gentle patting easier doth command, 
And make the bristling boar to crouch and fall, 
Than any boisterous wrestler of them all. 


It ts not needful for us to dilate on 
the magic power of gentleness, which we 
have ever pronounced to be an irresistible 
argument when all others fail ; but we know- 
too well the value of such a talisman, to be 
silent in its praises as opportunity offers. 
One half at least of the world's misfortunes 
originate in their contempt for this virtue. 
Take our word for it, good people ; we may 
always lead, and win, by kindness. Hard 
words, cruel speeches, opposition, and per- 
verseness, prevail neither with mankind nor 
with animals. But every thing falls before the 
sunshine of good-nature. We prove this daily. 

The subjoined fragment will fully illus- 
trate our meaning : — 

* * * 

"I did not hear the maiden's name; 
but in my thought I have ever since 
called her " Gentle Hand." What a magic 
lay in her touch ! It was wonderful. 

" When and where, it matters not now to 
relate ; — but once upon a time, as I was 
passing through a thinly-peopled district of 
country, night came down upon me, almost 
unawares. Being on foot, I could not hope 
to gain the village towards which my steps 
were directed, until a late hour ; and I 
therefore preferred seeking shelter and a 
night's lodging at the first humble dwelling 
that presented itself. 

" Dusky twilight was giving place to 
deeper shadows, when I found myself in the 
vicinity of a dwelling, from the small uncur- 
tained windows of which the light shone 
with a pleasant promise of good cheer and 
comfort. The house stood within an enclo- 
sure, and a short distance from the road 
along which I was moving with wearied 
feet. Turning aside, and passing through 
an ill-hung gate, I approached the dwelling. 
Slowly the gate swung on its wooden hinges, 
and the rattle of its latch, in closing, did not 
disturb the air until I had nearly reached 
the little porch in front of the house, in 
which a slender girl, who had noticed my 
entrance, stood awaiting my arrival. 

" A deep, quick bark, answered almost like 
an echo, the sound of the shutting gate ; and, 
sudden as an apparition, the form of an im- 
mense dog loomed in the doorway. I was 
now near enough to see the savage aspect 
of the animal, and the gathering motion of 
his body, as he prepared to bound forward 
upon me. His wolfish growl was really fear- 
ful. At the instant when he was about to 
spring, a light hand was laid upon his shaggy 
neck, and a low word spoken. 

" 'Don't be afraid. He won't hurt you,' 
said a voice, that to me sounded very sweet 
and musical. 

" 1 now came forward, but in some doubt as 
to the young girl's power over the beast, on 
whose rough neck her almost childish hand 
still lay. The dog did not seem by any means 
reconciled to my approach, and growled 
wickedly his dissatisfaction. 

" ' Go in,Tiger, ' said the girl — not in a voice 
of authority, yet in her gentle tones was the 
consciousness that she would be obeyed; 
and as she spoke, she lightly bore upon the 
animal with her hand, and he turned away, 
and disappeared within the dwelling. 

" ' Who's that ? ' A rough voice asked the 
question ; and now a heavy-looking man took 
the dog's place at the door. 

'"Who are you? What's wanted?' There 
was something very harsh and forbidding in 
the way the man spoke. The girl now laid 
her hand upon his arm, and leaned with a 
gentle pressure against him. 

" ' How far is it to G ? ' I asked, not 

deeming it best to say, in the beginning, that 
I sought a resting-place for the night. 

" ' To G ! ' growled the man, but not 

so harshly as at first. 'It's a good six miles 
from here.' 

" ' A long distance ; and I'm a stranger and 
on foot,' said I. ' If you can make room for 
me until morning I will be very thankful.' 

" I saw the girl's hand move quietly up 
his arm, until it rested on his shoulder, and 
now she leaned to him still closer. 

" ' Come in. We'll try what can be done 
for you.' There was a change in the man's 
voice that made me wonder. 

" I entered a large room, in which blazed 
a brisk fire. Before the fire sat two stout 
lads, who turned upon me their heavy eyes 
with no very welcome greeting. A middle- 
aged woman was standing at a table, and 
two children were amusing themselves with 
a kitten on the floor. 

" ' A stranger, mother,' said the man who 
had given me so rude a greeting at the door ; 
and he wants us to let him stay all night.' 

"The woman looked at me doubtingly 
for a few moments, and then replied, coldly : 

" ' We don't keep a public -house J 

" ' I'm aware of that, ma'am,' said I ; ' but 
night has overtaken me, and it's a long way 
to G .' 

" ' Too far for a tired man to go on foot,' 
said the master of the house, kindly ; ' so 
it's no use talking about it, mother ; we must 
give him a bed.' 

"So unobtrusively that I scarcely noticed 
the movement, the girl had drawn to the 
woman's side. What she said to her I did 
not hear, for the brief words were uttered in 
a low voice; but I noticed that, as she 
spoke, one small fair hand rested on the 

kidd's OWN JOURNAL. 

woman's hand. "Was there magic in that 
gentle touch? The woman's repulsive 
aspect changed into one of kindly welcome, 
and she said : 

" ' Yes, it is a long way to G . I 

guess vre can rind a place for him. Hare 
you had any supper? ' 

" I answered in the negative. 

"The woman, without further remark, 
drew a pine table from the wall, placed upon 
it some cold meat, fresh bread and butter, 
and a pitcher of new milk. "While these pre- 
parations were going on, I had leisure for more 
minute observation. There was a singular 
contrast between the young girl I have men- 
tioned, and other inmates of the room ; and 
yet I could trace a strong likeness between 
the maiden and the woman, whom I supposed 
to be her mother — browned and hard as 
were the features of the latter. 

"Soon after I had commenced eating mv 
supper, the two children who were plaving 
on the floor began quarrelling with each 

" ' John ! go off to bed ! ' said the father, 
in a loud, peremptory voice, speaking to 
one of the children. 

"But John, though he could not help 
hearing, did not choose to obey. 

" ( Do you hear me, sir ? Off with you ! ' 
repeated the angry father. 

" ' I don't want to go,' whined the child. 

" ' Go, I tell you, this minute !' 

"Still there was not the slightest move- 
ment to obey ; and the little fellow looked 
the very image of rebellion. At this crisis 
in the affair, when a storm seemed inevitable, 
the sister, as I supposed her to be, glided 
acrossthe room; and stooping down, took 
the child's hand in hers. Not a word was 
said , but the young rebel was instantly sub- 
dued. Rising, he passed out by her side, 
and I saw no more of him during the 

"Soon after I had finished my supper, a 
neighbor came in, and it was not long before 
he and the man of the house were involved 
in a warm political discussion, in which were 
many more assertions than reasons. My 
host was not a very clear-headed man; 
while his antagonist was wordy and spe- 
cious. The former, as might be supposed, 
very naturally became excited, and now 
and then indulged himself in rather strong 
expressions towards his neighbor, who, in 
turn, dealt back wordy blows that were 
quite as heavy as he had received ; and a 
good deal more irritating. 

" And now I marked again the power of 
that maiden's gentle hand. I did not notice 
her movement to her father's side. She was 
there when I first observed her, with one 
hand laid upon his temple, and lightly 
smoothing the hair with a caressing motion. 

Gradually the high tone of the disputant 
subsided, and his words had in them less 
of personal rancour. Still, the discussion 
went on ; and I noticed that the maiden's 
hand, which rested on the temple when un- 
impassioned words were spoken, resumed its 
caressing motion the instant there was the 
smallest perceptible tone of anger in the 
father's voice. It was a beautiful sight ; and 
I could but look on and wonder at the 
power of that touch — so light, so unobtru- 
sive, yet possessing a spell over the hearts 
of all around her. As she stood there, she 
looked like an angel of peace, sent to still 
the turbulent waters of human passion. 
Sadly out of place I could not but think 
her, amid the rough and rude ; and yet, who 
more than they need the softening and 
humanising influences of one like the Gentle 

" Many times more, during that evening, 
did I observe the magic power of her hand 
and voice — the one gentle, yet potent, as the 

" On the next morning, breakfast being 
over. I was preparing to take my departure, 
when my host informed me that if I would 
wait for half an hour, he would give me a 
ride in his wagon to G , as business re- 
quired him to go there. I was very well 
pleased to accept of the invitation. In due 
time, the farmer's wagon was driven into the 
road before the house, and I was invited to 
get in. I noticed the horse ; it was a rough- 
looking Canadian pony, with a certain air of 
stubborn endurance. As the farmer took 
his seat by my side, the family came to the 
door to see us off. 

" ' Dick ! ' said the farmer, in a peremp- 
tory voice, giving the rein a quick jerk as 
he spoke. 

" But Dick moved not a step. 

"'Dick! you vagabond! get up." And 
the farmer's whip cracked sharply by the 
pony's ear. 

" It availed not, however, this second 
appeal. Dick stood firmly disobedient. 
Next the whip was brought down upon hini 
with an impatient hand ; but the pony only 
reared up a little. Fast and sharp the 
strokes were next dealt, to the number of 
a half-dozen. The man might as well have 
beaten his wagon ! 

" A stout lad now came into the road ; and 
catching Dick by the bridle, jerked him for- 
ward, using, at the same time, the customary 
language on such occasions ; but Dick met 
this new ally with increased stubbornness, 
planting his forefeet more firmly, and at a 
sharper angle with the ground. The impa- 
tient boy now struck the pony on the side 
of his head with his clinched hand, and 
jerked cruelly at his bridle. It availed 

kil: journal. 

nothing, however: Dick was not to be 
any =uch arguments. 
•• I turned my head as the maiden's sweet 
voice reached my ear She was passing 
through the gate into the road, and in the 
had taken hold of the lad and 
drawn him away from the animal. Nc 
-xerted in this : she took hold 
of his arm, and he obeyed her wish as 
readily as if he had no thought beyond her 

• And now that soft hand was laid gently 
on the p : :k, and a single low word 

spoken. How instantly were the tense mus- 
cles relaxed — how quickly the stubborn air 

"'Poor Diefc id the maiden . u she 

stroked his neck lightly, or softly par 7 if 
with her child-like hand, 

z'j al:ni" 7; v. ' : . TTr :e!l:~ 
she added in a half-chiding, ve: rite :i:-nate 
she drew upon the briile. Tme 
pony turned towards her. and rubbed his 
against her arm for an instant or ~; : 
pricking up his ears, he started off at 
a light, cheerful trot, and went on hi; way 
as freely as if no silly crotchet had ever en- 
his stubborn brain. 
■• • "What a wonderful power that hand 
possesses said Z ; : raking to my compa- 
nion, as we rode : way 

■ Be looked at me for a moment, as if my 
remark had occasioned surprise. 

it -. iin::.: 

light came into his countenance, and he 

briefly — 

She 3 good! Everybody and every- 
thing loves her," 

"Was that indeed the secret of her 

*wer? "Was the quality of her soul per- 
ceived in the impression of her hand, even 
by brute beasts ? The father's explanation 
doubtless, the true one. Yei I have 
since wondered, and still do wonder, at the 
potency which lay in that maiden's magic 
touch. I have seen something of the same 
power, showing itself in the loving and good, 
but never to the extent as instanced in her, 
whom, for a better name. I must still call 
; Gentle Hand.' " 

A gentle touch — a soft word. Ah ! how 
:r~ of 11s, when the will is strong with its 
purpose, can believe in the power :: agencies 
so apparently insignificant ! And yet all 
great influences effect their ends silently, 
unobtrusively, and with a force that seems at 
first glance to be altogether inadequate. 

Is there not a lesson for us all in this '? 
And how very quickly it may be learnt ! 
God bless everv " gentle hand !'' say we. 

' Q- 

Taste. — Xothing can be more atrocious than 
fancv without taste. — Goethe. 


to marry! Or rather, perhaps, I 
should say. what a blockhead not to marry 
some twenty -five years ago — : 1 - ~>pose 
he will hardly get any decent sort of a body 

: : :cke lin - - :" 1 -is ?-- is r.:~ F :::...— 
—':.: : : :r".:rr_. :".-- .". i:e k± : :: Life he Le 
So wife to take care of him — no children to 
love him — no domestic enjoymrT: — - : thing 
-ttt. ::." ;:::::. .7 It. hi- .: \ :._e v. -.l> : 
— : ri: » :: '.- ihrn .: = — _. i.e: • 1: 
::.:-- : - " : -_~ k: •: 

By tie — ~ -~1". :-5 :he reisin the.: —7 
breakfast does not come np "? I have been 
waiting for it this half-hour. C h I forgot 
my wife sent :he cook to marke: : gel some 
trash or other for Dick's cold. She will be 
the death of that boy! But, ane: 1 

ought not t: find fault with Tom for not 
gettTTT wife, for he ha> lent me a good deal 
of money, that came quite convenient : and 
I suppose my younr zes will have all that 
he's — ::tt — hen he dies. P::r fellow! 
They'll want it. I am afraid : for though my 
business does very well, this housekeeping 
eats up the profits with such a large family 
as mine. 

Le: me see how many mouths I have to 
feed every day. There's my — if e i her 
— : sisters; that's three — and the four jys 
:T:i — mi ;.-_;. ._:._.'._. ;.t:. :t: ... 
Louisa, four more — eleven. Then there's 
the cook and the housemaid, and the boy — 
fourteen: and the woman that com 15 every 

- to wash, and to do odd jobs about the 
house — fifteen. Then there's the nursery- 
maid — s : t: e B t . Surely there must b e another '? 
I am sure I made it tt seventeen when I 
was reckoning up last Sunday morning at 
church. There must be an : : h bi sc me where : 
let me see again— wife, wife's sisters, boys 
girls. Oh. it's myself! I have so many :. 
think of. and to provide for. that I forget my- 
self half the time. Yes, thai makes :: -even- 
teem Seventeen people to :eei every 
no joke; and somehow or other, they have 
all furious apie:::fs. But then, bless their 
hearts, it is pleasant to see them eat : what a 
havoc they do make of the cakes in a morn- 
ing, to be sure '. 

Now j :or Tom knows nothing of all this. 
There he lives, all alone by himself in a 
boarding-house, with nobody near him who 
cares a brass farthing whether he live- m 
Mes. X: affectionate wife tc nurse him. 
coddle him up. put him to bed. &c, when he 
is sick : no little prattlers about him to keej 
him in good-humor : no dawning intellects, 
whose development he can amuse himself with 


watching, day after day ; nobody to study 
his wishes, and keep all his comforts ready. 
Confound it ! has not that woman got back 
from the market yet ? I feel remarkably 
hungry. I don't mind the boys being coddled 
and kissed, if my wife likes it ; but there is 
no joke in having the breakfast kept back 
for an hour. 

Oh ! by the way, I must remember to buy 
all those things for the children to-day. 
Christmas is close at hand, and my wife has 
made out a list of the presents she means to 
put in their stockings. More expense ! and 
their school-bills coming in too ! ! I remem- 
ber, before / was married, I used to think 
what a delight it would be to educate the 
young rogues myself; but a man with a large 
family has no time for that sort of " amuse- 
ment." I wonder how old my young Tom 
is? Let me see, when does his birthday 
come ? Next month ; and as I am a Chris- 
tian, he will then be fourteen. Boys of four- 
teen consider themselves all but men now-a- 
days ; and Tom is quite of that mind, I see. 
Nothing will suit his exquisite feeling but 
Wellington boots, at thirty shillings a pair, 
and his mother has been throwing out hints 
for some time as to the propriety of getting 
a watch for him — gold, of course ! Silver 
was quite good enough for me when I was 
half a score years older than he is ; but times 
are fearfully changed since my younger days. 

Then I believe the young villain has 
learned to play billiards ; and three or four 
times lately, when he has come in late at 
night, his clothes seemed strongly perfumed 
with cigar smoke. Iieigho ! fathers have 
many troubles, and I cannot help thinking 
sometimes that old bachelors are not such 
wonderful fools after all. They go to their 
pillows at night, with no cares on their minds 
to keep them awake, and when once they 
have got to sleep, nothing comes to disturb 
their repose — nothing short of the house be- 
ing on fire can reach their peaceful condition. 
No getting up in the cold to walk up and 
down the room for an hour or two with a 
young squeaking varlet, as my luck has 
been for the last five or six weeks. 

It is an astonishing thing to perceive what 
a passion our little Louisa has for crying ; so 
sure as the clock strikes three, she begins, and 
there is no getting her quiet again until she 
has fairly exhausted the strength of her 
lungs with straightforward screaming. I 
can't for the life of me understand why the 
young villains don't get through all 'their 
squalling and roaring in the day time, when 
I am out of the way. 

Then, again, what a delightful pleasure it 
is to be roused out of one's first nap, and 
sent off post-haste for the doctor — as / was 
on Monday night, when my wife thought that 

Sarah had got the croup, and frightened me 
half out of my wits, with her lamentations 
and fidgets. By the way, there's the doctor's 
bill to be paid soon ; his collector always 
pays me a visit before Christmas. Brother 
Tom has no doctors to fee, and that cer- 
tainly is a great comfort. 

Bless my soul ! how the time slips away ; 
past nine o'clock, and no breakfast yet ! ! 
Wife fondling with Dick, and getting the 
three girls and their two brothers ready for 
school. Nobody thinks of me all this time. 
What the plague has become of my news- 
paper, I wonder ? That young rascal, Tom, 
has carried it off, I dare say, to read in the 
school, when he ought to be poring over his 
books ! He's a great torment, that boy. But, 
no matter ; there's a great deal of pleasure 
in married life, and if some vexations and 
troubles do come with its delights, grumbling 
must be put away. 

Nevertheless, Brother Tom, all things 
considered, has done quite eight. He 
certainly is a "long-sighted " man I 



Let me live without Fortune, if Providence will it, 
For Joy can be found where small treasure is 
shed ; 
Those who bear a full cup are most fearful to- 
spill it, 
And oftentimes walk with the narrowest treact. 
I care not though Fate may deny me profusion,. 

If earth will but show me some rays from above ; 
Tell me not that God's light is a dreamy illusion — 
I could live without Fortune, but not without 

Oh ! 'tis pleasant to know there are beings 
about us 
Who tune the most exquisite strings in our 
heart ; 
To feel that they would not be happy without us, 
And that we, in our loneliness, sigh when we 
Oh ! there's something divine in the thought that 
we cherish 
A star-beam within us, that shines from above — 
To know, that if all the world gives us should 
The greatest of Fortune still dwells in our love ! 

Oh ! 'tis glory to feel that we live for some others, 

That self is not all we depend on below ; 
That affection yet links us to sisters and brothers, 
Whose faith will be constant, come weal or 
come woe. 
Though the vulture of trouble may harass our 
Ne'er fear while our spirit is fed by the dove ; 
Let the desert of Life give Eternity's blossom, 
And we'll live without Fortune, while favored 
by Love ! 




nf "dDnr 3fliirnaL" 


" Nothing vontur'd, nothing won," 
Is ;i saying trite and true. 
Be ye hold, but rashness shun ; 
WISELY venture when you do. 

Perhaps op all Speculations, those 
of a literary character are the most hazard- 
ous ; especially when any great object is 
sought to be attained ; all that a man can do 
— after he has well, and wisely chosen his 
ground — is to persevere ; and not suffer him- 
self to be put down by trifles. If after 
straining every nerve, emptying his purse, 
and racking his brain, his project fail, — then 
must he console himself with the knowledge 
of his having acted to the best of his ability. 

We mentioned in the Preface of our Third 
Volume, that we hoped the public would 
" philanthropically enlarge the sphere of our 
usefulness." We have been asked to explain 
how this may be done. Nothing can be 
easier, when so kind a disposition exists. 

Our labors are at present very heavy, and 
altogether unremunerative. We are over- 
tasked, without a near prospect of reward. 
Our principles are sui generis. They are not 
those of the multitude. What we rejoice in, 
they utterly despise. Hence have we to 
make converts at a very slow-rate, — so that 
" whilst the grass is growing, the ribs of the 
steed are seen through his skin." We would 
not be mistaken in our meaning. We do 
go a -head ; and we do make many friends. 
Having made them, we as invariably keep 
them. Our difficulty is to "win" them in 
sufficient numbers; for no one suddenly 
turns from old to new principles. Neither is 
the human heart made of a peculiarly soft 

The world is notoriously selfish, — cold, — 
hollow, — superficial. It sees no beauty in 
a community of sentiment ; no poetry in the 
idea of living the one for the other. What 
they have, they hold. It is their own. They 
have a "right" to it. This renders them 
exclusive ; education, too, perfects the belief 
that " money makes the man." 

We have, in another part of our Paper, 
asked "What do we all Live for ? " and we 
have endeavored to supply the answer. It is 
against this superficial, — this false view of- 
the " grand end of life," that our pen has 
ever been directed ; and hence the compara- 
tively slow rate at which our Journal 
travels. People shun the naked truth. It 
is unpalateable. 

Some twenty years since, we launched our 
first venture — known as "Kidd's Journal." 
Our principles then were similar to what 
they are now. But our ideas were more 
strictly playful ; and our pen, in the joyous- 
ness of its youthful Guide, treated its readers 
to much more of the amusing, than the per- 

manently useful. Hence where we now sell 
many hundreds, we then sold many thousands. 
Six Volumes, from time to time, saw the 
light. They had an immense circulation ; 
and they were eagerly bought up. Indeed, we 
cannot now procure a single copy of them at 
any price. 

Of our former readers, some thousands 
returned to us last year ; and it was really 
pleasing to notice how very large were the 
sales of certain of our early numbers. When, 
however, it was found out that time had 
rendered us more thoughtful ; that our ideas 
were expanded ; and that we were writing 
from a feeling of philanthropy, " to benefit 
society" — our quondam friends trooped off 
one by one, and we had to create an entirely 
new body of supporters. 

We were cast down sadly by this ; but we 
were not in despair. We knew our cause was 
a good one, and we persevered. " Death or 
Victory ! " was our watchword. Our more 
recent struggles are too well known to re- 
quire comment. So great have they been, 
that we had fully resolved our labors should 
cease and determine with the Volume just 

In this we have again been over-ruled, — it 
being the third time we have given way to 
counsel.* We have actually ventured on the 
commencement of another volume, — " to 
prove that we are not unreasonable ! " The 
issue of this, will try the question of — 

To be, — or not to be ? 
This question lies with the better part of the 
public, — we mean that body who feel in- 
terested in the spread of sound, wholesome, 
cheerful literature,- — free from cant and moral 

The aid we ask is simply this — that each 
one of our present subscribers should kindly 
use their interest in procuring us one other 
subscriber. This would at once double our 
circulation, repay us the cost of present pro - 
duction, and leave the pleasing prospect of 
"a something" at a future day, to put by 
towards the liquidation of somewhat heavy 
outstanding obligations. Our Journal 
pants to be free. 

As " Honesty is the best Policy," we shall 
offer no apology for having thus disburthened 
our mind of a little load of care. Six months 
will soon pass away ; and then — Nous verrons. 

This, be it remembered, is our final effort. 
We have said it. 

* One inciting cause for our steady perseverance 
under difficulties, has been the extraordinary effects 
produced by oub Journal on the minds of cer- 
tain persons who, on its advent, treated its con- 
tents with ridicule and contempt. These ai-e now 
our very best friends and supporters. The genial 
and kindly tone of our Miscellany has gained us 
a hearing. This is all we want. Our aim is 
" direct " at the heart, — the seat of the affections. 




Monasteries and Convents are disgraceful, 
Unnat'ral Institutions, — by honest nature censur'd, 

Repudiated. Forc'd institutions, 
Engendering sentiments unworthy 
Of mankind, disgraceful to the Christian. 

W. Peace. 

The recent outcry by men of inte- 
grity, against convents and other similar 
establishments, has no doubt been strength- 
ened by the filthy doings that from time to 
time become known through the public news- 
papers. Sly as the " keepers " of these in- 
stitutions may be and are, still little inklings 
of their misdoings will, providentially, ooze 
out occasionally. Hence the alarm among 
the truly upright. 

Beginning at Exeter, and travelling north- 
ward, had we a second Asmodeus amongst 
us he would doubtless show us scenes which 
would make " each particular hair " on our 
head " to stand on end." However, it seems 
these matters are from policy to be " hushed 
up." This is sad indeed ; but as we might 
perhaps, by too close an inquiry, only add 
to the present secresy observed, and so 
injure some of the innocent indwellers, we 
will not assist in multiplying their sorrows. 
May God protect them ! say we. 

The Agapemone, or Abode of Love, is at 
all events fair game. The impieties practised 
here, are but too well known ; and yet 
nobody interferes with them. We have from 
time to time read public statements of their 
practices which even in France, or in any other 
country but England, would have brought 
down upon the impious ruler of this infernal 
den condign punishment. Yet, there must 
be no inquiry! of course not. Are we living 
in a state of civilisation ? we think not. 

The recent account of the Agapemone, 
or the Abode of Love, as detailed by the 
Sherborne Journal, must not disfigure our 
columns. Surely not. We would 'not dare 
to print the blasphemous assumptions of 
Mr. Prince. What is going on within his 
walls may be readily conceived; nay, it 
appears to be no secret. Yet do his neigh- 
bors become reconciled to his propinquity, 
and grow " used " to his practices ! If we 
lived near him, — but let him be thankful that 
we don't. 

" Oh shame ! where is thy blush ? " 
All who wish well to virtue, and who depre- 
cate the incarceration of amiable women 
with a view to making them " devout" — a 
species of philosophy we have often tried 
vainly to comprehend, should exert them- 
selves to put down these evils. If not, 
people will talk ; fathers will fear ; mothers 
will tremble. Surely the sacrifice of a pure- 
minded maiden should not be so very lightly 
esteemed as it is ! 



Hark ! 'tis the voice of Summer 

Breathing soft melody, — 
Softly its accents murmur, 

Far over land and sea ; 
Merrily carolling through the trees, 
Or whispering low to the passing breeze. 

Gaily her laugh is ringing 

O'er many a rocky pile, 
And gentle flow'rets springing, 

Glean beauty from her smile. 
Swiftly the sounds o'er the waters steal, 
And sunbeams dance to the merry peal. 

Lightly her foot is tripping 

Over the mountain heath ; 
Or with gay flowers skipping, - 

She weaves a rosy wreath ; 
And ever and anon she strays 
Where dew-drops glisten on the sprays. 

Now on the velvet turf 

Her steps at twilight roam ; 
Then, dashing thro' the surf, 

She seeks her ocean home. 
But ere the moon rides in the sky, 
She sings the sun's sweet lullaby. 

E'en when she rose to kiss 

The mountain's fiery tip, 
Fair roses craved the bliss — 

And from her gentle lip 
They claimed their exquisite perfume, 
And bore away its lovely bloom. 

Hark ! 'tis the voice of Summer 

Calls thee from toil and care, 
To welcome each new comer 

That blooms to call her fair. 
Go, watch the dawn glide o'er the lea : 
There nature holds her revelry ! 

Go where she smiles to bless, 
With love and beauty crown' d ; 

She wears her bridal dress, 

And flowers bestrew the ground. 

Oh, many a rare and brilliant gem 

Is sparkling from her diadem ! 

Go bathe thy grief-worn face, 
Where dew-drops deck the sod ; 

Bow with true Christian grace, 
And worship Nature's God. 

Earth doth His wondrous works declare, 

And heaven proclaim that God is there ! 


(t Oh, boy ! why seek'st thou with such care 
Those bubbles of the sea? 
Thy touch but frees the prison'd air." — 
"I'm gathering Hopes," saith he. 

" Old man ! why in that shatter'd bark 
Dost tempt this troubled sea, 
Without a compass, rudder, mark ? " — 
" I'm following Hope," saith he. 




This magnificent tree, says Strutt, lias every 
way a claim to the title of Great, being at this 
time one of the largest, the stateliest, and the most 
flourisliing in the kingdom. Its stem, at the 
ground, is sixteen feet six inches in circumference, 
its height is fifty-nine feet, and its branches cover 
an area of eighty feet in diameter. When it is in 
the full prime of its summer foliage, waving its 
rich green arms to the gentle breezes and hiding 
the small birds innumerable in its boughs, it forms 
a fine exemplification of the sublime description of 
the prophet Ezekiel, in his comparison of the glory 
of Assyria in her most "high and palmy state." 

" Behold the Assyrian was as a cedar in Lebanon, 
with fair branches, and with a shadowing shroud, 
and of an high stature, and his top was among 
the thick boughs. The waters made him great. 
The deep set him up on high, with her rivers 
running round about his plants, and sent out her 
little rivers unto all the trees of the field. 

" Therefore his might was exalted above all the 
trees of the field, and his boughs were multiplied, 
and his branches became long, because of the 
multitude of waters, when he shot forth. 

" All the fowls of Heaven made their nests in his 
boughs, and under his branches did all the beasts 
of the field bring forth their young, and under his 
shadow dwelt all great nations. 

" Thus was he fair in his greatness, in the length 
of his branches, for his root was by great waters. 
The cedars in the garden of God could not hide 
him. The fir trees were not like his boughs, and 
the chesnut trees were not like his branches, nor 
any tree in the garden of God was like unto him in 
his beauty. 

" I have made him fair by the multitude of his 
branches, so that all the trees of Eden, that were 
in the garden of God envied him." — Chapter 31. 

A fertile imagination might be led to suppose 
that this noble tree had witnessed its princes, its 
heroes, its statesmen, holding their councils, and 
forming their lofty projects, under the shadow of its 

The house with which it may probably be coeval, 
and which appears to belong to the Elizabethan 
order of architecture, was in later times the resi- 
dence of Oliver Cromwell, during the period of the 
Protectorate ; and some who, dazzled by the glare 
of false greatness, confound striking incidents with 
grand ones, have been anxious to inspire additional 
respect for the venerable walls, by assigning to 
them the unenviable distinction of having had the 
death-warrant of Charles the First signed within 
them. Very different at this time are the pursuits 
carried on, — the consultations held, — in the once 
stately council-chamber. The house has been the 
last, half-century devoted to the purposes of educa- 
tion. Fair and youthful forms supply the place 
of sour-visaged Puritans and lank-haired Round- 
heads ; mandates and treaties are turned into 
exercises and themes ; and though the cedar may 
still be made occasionally the confidant of whispered 
greatness, or visionary happiness, it is to be hoped 
it will never again listen to the schemes of guilty 
ambition, or the signs of fruitless remorse. 



I have perused, in the last number of 
OUR Journal, Mr. Editor, a very interest- 
ing account of the Yew Tree. As I love 
these trees, and feel sure that all other 
lovers of nature must unite in the feeling, 
let me direct attention to another very 
beautiful specimen, growing in that pictu- 
resque spot — Darley Dale. 

Darley Dale is distant from Matlock 
some four miles ; and from Chatsworth the 
distance is five miles. The tree I allude to, 
graces the south side of the churchyard. 

My admiration of this very beautiful 
object, has induced me to ascertain its di- 
mensions, and I have had it accurately 
measured. At four feet from the ground, 
its girth is forty -two feet and four inches. 
Nor is it in any way a deformed tree. 
From its vast trunk issue radiating branches 
of proportional size and length — the whole of 
fine form, and well-grown. 

1 hardly need tell you, that this king of 
trees is lovingly cherished by the parishion- 
ers. Nor is its fame unknown to strangers, 
of whom a vast number come to pay it a 
visit. A lithographic print of it has been 
executed, one of which is in the possession 
of a friend of mine, residing in Norfolk. I 
may mention, that there are some gems of 
younger growth in this same spot, all giving 
lively promise of robust and lofty stature as 
time develops their latent powers. 

Is it air or soil, or both combined, that 
produces such remarkable specimens of so 
slow-growing a tree as the Yew ? 

Kingston Lisle, July 6. 

E. F. P. 

[The cause of the rapid growth and 
healthy state of these noble trees, no doubt 
originates in their love for the soil, air, and 
climate ; all which evidently conduce to their 
good looks and colossal proportions. If we 
mortals were to study more closely than we 
do what suits our constitution, and to live 
in a more "healthy atmosphere" — we use 
the expression quantum valeat, we too should 
flourish like these trees. Ere long, we pur- 
pose taking a trip to see what is here so 
kindly brought under our notice. We love 
the yew tree dearly.] 


Praise from thy lips, — what is it worth to me ? 

They know, who know the worth of Fame ; a star 

Pluck'd from high Heaven to set upon the brow. 

Speak it again ; for it is sweet to hear 

Praise from the voice we love. Thy voice is soft, 

And hath a touch of tenderness, as 'twere 

A gentle flower, grown musical ! 




Study to-day ! those children twain 
Bend o'er the unlearn'd task in vain ; 

But only with their eyes — 
Each little heart is out of doors, 
Bounds o'er the blooming earth, or soars 

To yon rejoicing skies. 

Hard to sit still, while thus around 
Motion and sparkle so abound, 

To charm the childish sight. 
Soft music floats through dell and green, 
Even the very floor is seen 

To undulate with light. 

While, like a welcome from the woods 
Streams the fresh smell of bursting buds 

The open windows through ; 
And on the sea — that lies asleep, 
Yet dreams of motion — light waves leap 

Distractingly in view. 

And who o'er musty rules could pore — 
While waving boughs of sycamore 

Drip sunshine on the book ? 
Catch now and then on each dull word 
The flitting shadow of a bird — 

Without a rueful look ! 

Not there they seem constrained to talk 
Of flower and fount, and forest walk : 

And oh ! if they could dwell 
(Like pretty Maia in the wood) 
Beneath a leaf, and drink their food 

From each wild blossoms bell ! 

Come let the weary lessons end ; 

The fair young Summer must not spend 

Her holiday alone ; 
And once beneath the summer skies 
Surely those chang'd, uplifted eyes, 

The same bright hue have won. 

Oh, happy creatures ! scarce they pass 
A daisy, pink, or flowering grass, 

Without a burst of" joy. 
A smooth grey pebble is a prize ; 
The glancing of the butterflies 

Enchants them, girl and boy. 

What deep delight to stand and hear 
The linnet, tremulously clear, 

The droning of the bee ; 
That sound of waves, so soft in swell, 
As loud might issue from a shell 

That whispers of the sea ! 

To gather in the deep green lane 
The hawthorn blossoms that remain, 

Last month's delicious boon ; 
And feel it as the perfumed breath, 
The shade of May that lingereth 

Upon the skirts of June ! 

See the wild rosebuds crimsoning ; 
It is the blushing of the Spring 

'Neath Summer's earliest kiss ; 
The children's voice seems wildly fit, 
The thrill of life is exquisite 

On such a day as this. 

At last we reach a still retreat, 
Cushioned with moss, and scented sweet, 

A foi'est parlor, fair ; 
Soft jets of sunshine pouring through 
Its emerald roof, and Heaven's pale blue 

Just glimpsing here and there. 

While each a wild-wood garland weaves 
Beneath the flickering of the leaves, — 

How fair they seem and still ! 
A moment more, both laughing stand, 
And shake, for sport, from hand to hand, 

The silver of the rill. 

And now a fairy measure tread ; 
Anon the tiny feast is spread, 

And while the day goes by, — 
The echoed voice of each gay elf 
Keturns, as though e'en Silence' self 

Laughed back for sympathy ! 

Say'st thou this day was idly spent ; 
Its beauty not ineloquent, 

Good lessons to impart? — 
That, looking at the unfathomed sky, 
No holy sense of mystery 

Would settle round the heart ? 

Or will they love each other less 
For seeing Nature's lovingness ; 

Or more ungrateful prove 
For having joined a childish lay 
With her thanksgiving psalm to-day, 

To her great King above ? 

Nay ; but whate'er their future lot, 
The memory of that verdant spot, 

The coolness and the calm, 
Upon worn spirits tired of life, 
Or through the fever of the strife, 

Will fall as soft as balm. 

Oh ! we should steep our senses dull 
In all the pure and beautiful 

That God for them hath given ; 
Creep into Nature's heart, and thence 
Look out with gratitude intense 

On life, and up to Heaven. 
From Household Words, 


We have " said our say " about the poetry of life, 
and shown how " poor " those are whose minds 
cannot rise superior to the common jog-trot of the 
world's vulgar feeling. At this season of the year, 
it is sad to listen to the remarks of the million, 
whose whole pleasure seems concentrated in eating, 
drinking, smoking, and rioting. They talk about 
fresh air, and poison it. They ramble in the 
country, only to give loose to excess of gluttony. 

" Oh ! these people who do not like poetry," 
says Eliza Cook ; " they are sad thorns in the side 
of refined humanity ! They may be useful, but 
we honestly confess, if we have one prejudice 
stronger than another, it exists against such ani- 
mated; fossils." How heartily do we join in this 
sentiment ! We fear we shall not live to see much 
improvement in this matter. At all events, we 
progress very slowly. Sensuality and excess 
seem, particularly in the summer, to banish all 
feelings of refinement amongst " the people." 




Roaming over that beautiful mountain 
district, situated in the south-west of Ireland, 
famed throughout the world for its glorious 
and ever varying scenes, I was frequently an 
observer of those charming views, and saw a 
little of the manners and customs of that 
ancient and superstitious peasantry — border- 
ing the Lakes of Killarney. 

Every person who has visited the three 
lakes, will remember the promontory of 
Mucross in the Upper Lake, with its Abbey 
ruins mantled by that offspring of nature 
which at this early season throws out its 
million decorations from countless branches 
and stems — all capped by rich green leaves of 
many hues, casting a cheerful pall over those 
memorable ruins, over the ashes of friars 
resting in the tomb. 

The demesne of Mucross and its promon- 
tory are pleasingly described by Mrs. S. C. 
Hall in a very elaborate book called " A Week 
at Killarney." Tourists, who come hither, 
admire the avenue with its tall elms, where 
more than thirty herons hover at a stone's 
throw; also the first peep through the nave 
archway, looking up the chancel, is a favorite 
one. This forms a sweet picture in shade 
and color, when the bright sun shines. The 
sky and trees appear to be receding from 
you, through a mullioned window, whieh is 
perfect in appearance — almost as though the 
builder had placed it there yesterday. A 
small and singularly-formed tower divides the 
nave from the chancel. My guide informed 
me, that architects delighted in the four 
plain supporters of the tower. These are 
merely stone posts, forming a door-shaped 
opening into the east and west portions of 
the church. 

The order of friars who settled here, seem 
well to have understood a provident arrange- 
ment for temporal comforts in their habita- 
tions. They had their library, refectory, and 
kitchen on the same floor, with doors from 
one into the other. The good men of those 
days after matin services, could pleasantly 
beguile their time in a spacious library ; but 
what vestiges remain to us of the dark 
wood book-cases, arranged in rows along the 
room ; or of the scriptorium which I infer 
was incorporated with the library? What 
relics of the many thousand hours spent in 
illuminating and compiling missals ? There 
seems only one trophy to catch the eye ; and 
that is a recess in the north wall, where per- 
chance, books have been placed ; the stone 
edges of which are now rounded, and are 
fast crumbling away. 

Let us picture the friars (they belonged to 
the Franciscan order) in calm debate over a 
flagon of Burgundy, taken from their exten- 
sive wine stores, in incomparably large cel- 

lars below (for the monastery is small other- 
wise in proportion). We can fancy them all 
sitting cosily around an arbutus-wood table. 
The material might then be prized as it is 
now, for ladies' work-boxes, tables, and card- 
cases ; for egg-cups, and gentlemen's tobacco 
boxes. The friars might be talking over the 
studies of the day ; their advancement in doc- 
trinal learning; their fresh visitors at church; 
the giving of alms to the poor from the 
hospitium — all passing a cordial hour after 
the mid-day meal in the solemn area of their 

We can view this dining-hall in a more 
exuberant scene ; when an ever continued 
hospitality within the pious roof never thought 
cheerful, heartfelt, innocent mirth, a sin. 
Graced as the festive board might be by a 
courtly and lordly guest, — with generous 
sympathy was the worldly man greeted, en- 
tertained, and followed on his way by the 
blessing of the brotherhood. This country 
abounds with legends and tales. The most 
ridiculous perhaps are those told of the 
O'Donoghue ; who, in days when fairies 
governed ignorant noddles, lived on a lovely 
island in the Lower Lake, named Ross 
Island. He was noted for his wizard acts, 
and we may conclude that he and his de- 
scendants were men of warm Irish blood — 
glorying in freaks of every kind ; delighted 
with making dupes of the ignorant credulous 
tribes about them. Possibly, these good 
men in their way were attracted by the intel- 
ligence of the recluse men, who lived a plea- 
sant boat's pull from the old grim castle ; and 
that on call days, they helped to consume 
savory edibles sent piping-hot from a wide 
kitchen fire-place in the apartment adjoining. 
The O'Donoghue passed a merry hour or two, 
discoursing upon popular topics of that day 
— namely, how Coleman, of the Upper Lake, 
had his eye kicked, and was obliged to bathe 
it in a narrow inlet bordering the lake, be- 
yond which Coleman must not again venture. 
How the last hart was gallantly slain on that 
foeman's ground (Coleman's), and victo- 
riously carried off to the Ross Island larder. 
Fancies like these may strike us, and we can 
imagine them to be truths — almost ; when 
man walked over the floors of Mucross ; 
when they were not green, and O'Donoghue 
of the glens and Ross reigned supreme. 
The kitchen chimney is a striking object ; 
the whole being perfect, nearly to the top 
stones. The cellar and store-rooms are very 
extensive — skirting, on two sides, the clois- 
ters which form a true gem in the architec- 
ture of the building. Four rows of arches 
present a square around the area, and in the 
centre of the court has grown up a gigantic 
yew, said to be the tallest in Ireland ; and to 
have been planted by the friars Its many 
branches throw a sombre and cool shade all 



around, and within the cloister walks ; in- 
clining the mind for contemplation, when the 
sun's rays burned at mid-day. 

The belfry-tower floor is curious. In it 
are two circular apertures, hewn out of stone 
blocks, which the matin, and vesper bell 
cords chafed many centuries ago. A relic 
similar to this I have not noticed before in 
monastic ruins. From a calm pleasant feel- 
ing, enjoyed during a stroll over these beau- 
tiful remains, a spot inviting the mind to 
ponder over history past, (the thoughts of 
a visit to which, make visitors long to come,) 
we must advance ; although again — 

We long to catch the light of glimm'ring moon 
Amongst the trees, swift running, faintly creep- 
ing ; 
To rest our eye on the sage mullions mantled 
With ivy, as it clings ; that dances, flutters, 
And seems to mock cool breezes, chasing along 
Walls of vaulted chambers, scented flowers, 
Which find their home about the crumbling ruins. 
There, with myriad tips of glowing beauty, 
Luna we gaze on, gently kissing these. 

Would we not saunter oft on such an eve 
Round Mucross Dell ? or should our drowsy eyes 
Remain until the morn can blithely speak 
Unto our vision, and an anxious heart, 
With halcyon breath through blue Aurora's veil ? 
Then let us go — the sun's above the hills, 
Our guide sweet nature, and our object, — love. 

We must now bid adieu to sentiment and 
verse-making, and be transmitted as it were 
through trains of guides, and mountain 
women, some of whom call themselves "The 
veritable Kate Kearney." Boys haunt you 
with the names Tore, Waterfall, Mucross, &c. 
The girls (who by the way are not particu- 
larly prepossessing in appearance) bother 
you with goats '-milk and whiskey ; and 
(ladies don't blush when I say it) become 
volunteers to guide ladies and gentlemen to 
the top of Maugerton mountain. 

Let us now advance to the chapel of Cog- 
hereen. If you turn to the left, a little way 
on the Kenmare road, not far from the Mu- 
cross demesne gate, you will soon come to 
this spot. Coghereen chapel is said to be 
the smallest in Ireland ; but it is a ruin, and 
its old small tower is tottering down ; with- 
in, it is dark and dismal ; one small aperture 
at the east end throws a faint light upon a 
huge altar below. Throughout the whole 
of the interior, is a floor of scattered stones ; 
some may have fallen from the decayed walls, 
others have been cast by the mischievous 
lads of the country. This chapel, when I 
saw it, was in good character for a sketch. 
Nature, through the wilful hand of man, sym- 
pathised with its ruined aspect ; and a sym- 
bol of the instability of all things appeared 
in a prostrate larch, which to all appearances 
had been felled only an hour or two pre- 
viously by the woodman. 

Shall we sit by this small ruin, once a holy 
temple — near the fallen tree, by the tombs of 
many who are gone ; who have seen and 
loved that lonely lake before us, and loved 
it more because near it they were born ? On 
a tine May evening, shall we listen to the 
final rich notes of the song-thrush on the 
larch twig, and the piping of many birds 
in distant trees, along projecting rocks? 
Those sylvan carols have died in the breeze ; 
are repeated from trees far in the glen. 
Again those life-notes so gentle are finally 
drowned by other tones, which, swelling on 
the ruffled air, usher in the woful sorrow- 
ing cries of the bearers of the dead. "We 
listen to the wretched wailing of hired 
mourners practising then avocation at a 
funeral. They are women, around a corpse 
which is to be interred in Mucross Abbey — 
and they are called Keeners. Bewildered by 
their lamentations, can we resist the desire 
to catch up some words of that sad lament, 
and follow the mourners to the grave ? 

We retrace our steps to Mucross burial- 
ground, which seemed so fresh when the sun 
gladdened the lively May green. But this 
mysterious-looking group went on as a dark 
cloud, bearing the body of some poor man 
who had died many miles away, whose right 
is was to be interred here because his fore- 
fathers were placed here before him. Enter- 
ing the grave-yard gate, I observed men, 
women, and children on bended knees, en- 
gaged in prayer at the tombs of those they 
had loved. Further on was a dark con- 
fused mass (I cannot compare the group 
better than to bees withhi a hive) : this was 
a scene never observable in the composed ser- 
vice of the Protestant church. Astonished 
with this odd spectacle, I advanced close to 
the performers and the mourners. It did not 
a little shock the sentiments of a Protestant to 
see rude embraces round a cloth-covered coffin. 
But this was the custom of the country, and 
amidst that rude simplicity let us hope that 
a light may yet shine. 

The remains were placed on the green 
sward ; towards the head were the deceased's 
nearest relatives. Some were fatherless 
children, whose bitter sorrows looked very 
real. Their heart pangs lost a childlike 
grief in tears — refreshing them, poor things, 
for the toils to come, when an earthly guar- 
dian was not near to guide them. Around 
the foot of the coffin in long black -hooded 
cloaks, knelt from six to eight women ; hired 
to swell the sorrows, and rend the air again. 
My informant said that these women earned 
from half-a-crown to five shillings for their 
services at every funeral. Their business 
seems to be, to cry as much as they can. 
One very ancient woman rubbed her right 
eye with a very hard pocket-handkerchief. 
The optic was red, very red — too much so. 



for the friction was exceedingly mechanical. 
Keeners throw about their arms, and enjoin 
all people to sorrow for the dead. 

One female observed this scene;. but let 
us hope with eyes more lucid. This was a 
young lady, attracted thither perhaps more 
from curiosity than anything else. She was 
a great acquisition to this effective picture. 
She was dressed in gipsy fashion — tall, with 
intelligent and large dark-flashing eyes. With 
calm interest, did she appear to look on ; 
and marvel why the dead should be con- 
signed to the tomb thus in the last obsequies. 

Report says that our beloved Queen during 
the latter part of the present season, will 
visit the Killarney Lakes. Let us hope 
that the Kerry peasantry will look upon 
their sovereign and love her ; and that the 
gracious visit may cast a light upon their 
countenances, which light may be cherished 
in the hearts of many, many of the Irish 
people ! 

C. W. R. 

Mallow, near Cork, 
June 14. 


Stay, mortal, stay ! nor heedless thus 

Thy sure destruction seal ! 
Within that cup there lurks a curse, 

Which all who drink shall feel. 
Disease and death for ever nigh, 

Stand ready at the door, 
And eager wait to hear the cry 

Of " Give me one glass more ! " 

Lo ! view that prison's gloomy cells, 

Their pallid tenants scan ; 
Gaze, gaze upon these earthly hells, 

And ask what this began ? 
Had these a tongue, oh ! man, thy cheek 

The tale would crimson o'er ; 
Had these a tongue, they'd to thee speak, 

And answer — " One glass more ! " 

Behold the wretched female form, 

An outcast from her home, 
Bleached by affliction's biting storm, 

And doomed in want to roam ; 
Behold her ! ask that prattler dear 

" Why mother is so poor? " 
He'll whisper in thy startled ear, 

" 'Twas father's one glass more." 

Stay, mortal, stay ! repent, return ! 

Reflect upon thy fate ; 
The poisonous draught indignant spurn, 

Reject it, ere too late ! 
Oh ! fly the venom, burst the chain ; 

Nor linger at the door, — 
Lest thou, perchance, shouldst sip again 

The treach'rous " one glass more." 

A Warning Voice. 


Those who have been young, and 
those who are young (especially if fond of 
angling and other exciting sports), will 
readily enter into the spirit of the following 
extracts, copied from " Bonar's Hunting Ex- 
cursion in the Mountains of Bavaria." It is 
a vivid picture of — 


Such a place as that where I was watch- 
ing is my delight — is the delight indeed, of 
every hunter; for from it I could have 
seen the game, had any come, long before 
it reached me. And this is always pleasant ; 
not only because it gives you time for prepa- 
ration, but on account of the delicious ex- 
citement you feel in every vein, from the moment 
you espy the coming creature, till that other 
moment when you feel it is your own. Your 
hopes, your fears, your longings — all that makes 
up the sum of the enjoyment, is thus heightened 
by being prolonged. You watch its approach 
with greedy eyes, and full of anxieties ; the ex- 
citement would choke you if it lasted long ; yet 
two such minutes — and they seem hours — are 
worth whole ordinary days. 

The flutter and nervousness felt by him 
whose whole heart is in the chase, when he first 
is in presence of the stag, is a curious psycholo- 
gical phenomenon. The Germans have a special 
name for this state, and call it " Hirsch Fieber" 
(Stag Fever). The excitement you are in quite 
lames you. Of course it varies in degree with 
different persons, according to temperament, and 
the phlegmatic will probably never experience it 
at all. 

In me it showed itself in the highest degree. 
When I heard the rush of the stag among the 
branches, or saw him approaching at a distance, 
my heart began to beat audibly; my breath came 
quickly, every limb trembled, and I felt half 
suffocated. To take a deliberate aim was of 
course impossible, for my rifle rose and fell like 
a bough swayed by the wind. But I remember 
one instance in which a sort of magnetic in- 
fluence seemed to be exercised over me. I was 
waiting for a stag on the edge of the covert, 
Presently I heard something rustle, and the fever 
began ; but only a kid leaped by, and I was calm 
again. Soon after I heard the step of the stag, 
and in another second his majestic head looked 
forth from the green branches. 

On he came towards me, down a gentle slope ; 
slowly, and unaware of my presence. The rifle 
had been raised when first I heard his approach, 
and it was levelled still ; the hair-trigger was set, 
and a breath almost would have been sufficient to 
move the trigger ; my finger too was upon it, 
and I wished to pull, yet from some cause or other 
I was unable to do so. There I stood ; the mag- 
nificent stag opposite me, and I charm-struck and 
spell-bound. The slightest movement of the finger 
would have been enough, but I could not move it ; 
and only when he had disappeared did my fast- 
clinched teeth relax, and I drew a long breath, 
and felt myself relieved. 

Since then, I have understood the power of the 
snake over other animals ; how by fixing its eyes 



on a bird or rabbit the prey will become so fas- 
cinated as to be helpless for escape, but awaits 
the monster's approach, and even walks into its 
jaws. The influence, it is true, is not quite the 
same in both cases ; for in the hunter this want 
of power to execute his will does not arise from 
fear, but is probably merely an intense anxiety 
not to miss the mark — a violent struggle between 
suddenly-aroused emotions. In time the " fever" 
wears off; yet occasionally, though you flatter 
yourself you are grown stoically calm, and that 
an old sportsman like you is not to be disturbed 
by such freaks and fancies — occasionally, I say, 
if you are kept long in suspense, you too will 
get the " fever" — you will feel it laying hold of 
you in spite of all your efforts to shake it off. 

I do not remember any allusion to this extreme 
state by English sportsmen. They acknowledge 
being " nervous ; " nothing however transpires of 
chattering of teeth, of gasping for breath, or of 
violent tremblings throughout the whole body ; 
yet I do not doubt that the presence of the red- 
deer of Scotland may have the same potent 
charm as that of his German compeer ; and I am 
quite sure, if it ever were my good fortune to get 
a day's stalking in the Highlands, that such a 
sight as Sir Edwin Landseer has shown us in his 
" Drive," would set my heart beating exactly 
as of old. 

When young, we were in the habit of beat- 
ing a very extensive wood — gun in hand, 
for the purpose of trying our skill at a 
partridge or a pheasant. There was an 
abundance of game in the preserves ; and 
we recollect, even as if it were yesterday, 
the effect produced on our nerves when we 
flushed a covey of birds for the first time. 
It was a fine season, and the coveys were 
large. We remember some thirteen birds 
rising on the wing, with a rustling noise 
like thunder. We remember, too, opening 
our mouth wide, and gazing at them, as with 
their musical and thrilling " whirr ! " they 
went a- head — bidding us defiance. How we 
did tremble in every limb ! 

The gun was raised, truly; and our 
heart might have been heard (almost) to beat 
beneath our vest ; but no power had we to 
pull the trigger. We were riveted — para- 
lysed. Excitement like this must be felt ere 
it can be comprehended ; and no person 
better than ourself can understand the 
meaning sought to be conveyed by the gra- 
phic description given in the above extract. 

What a very curious thing is excitement ! 
And yet how necessary is its existence in 
a modified form, to enable us to enjoy 
rightly the world we live in ! 


The end of all religion is, that we should " live 
soberly, righteously, and godly ; " that in our- 
selves we should be temperate and pure ; to our 
fellow-creatures, just and benevolent ; to God, 
obedient, thankful, and devout. — Huntingfokd. 


The Creator has made nothing that is not use- 
ful — nothing so insulated as to have no relations 
with anything else — nothing which is not service- 
able or instrumental to other purposes besides 
its own existence — nothing that is not to be ap- 
plicable or convertible to the benefit of His sen- 
tient creatures, in some respect or other. The 
mineral has a connexion of this sort with both 
the vegetable and animal kingdoms, and these 
with each other. 

The same principle has been pursued through- 
out the animated classes of nature. No one 
species ot living being has been formed only for 
itself, or can subsist in absolute uselessness to 
others. This is one grand purpose for causing so 
many races of animal beings to subsist on each 
other. By this system, each enjoys the gift of 
life ; and each is made to contribute, by the ter- 
mination of that gift, to the well-being of others. 
Fishes are thus useful to each other, to many 
birds, to some animals, and to man. Birds have 
their period of happiness for themselves, and are 
serviceable to others of their kind ; and to man, 
and to some quadrupeds, in their mode of death, 
instead of mouldering through corruption into 
their material dissolution. Quadrupeds have 
the same double use in their existence : their own 
enjoyment, and the benefit, at their death, to 
those of their own order, and to the birds and 
reptiles, worms and insects, that have been ap- 
pointed to derive nutrition from their substance. 

All the kingdoms of nature have been likewise 
so constructed as to be beneficial to the human 
race — not as nutriment only, but in the thousand 
conveniences to which they are convertible. The 
amphibious order of nature is no exception to 
these general results. Its various genera con- 
tribute their proportion to the common stock of 
mutual utilities. They have their own gratifi- 
cation from their personal existence ; they contri- 
bute by their substance to the maintenance of 
others of their fellow-creatures ; and some of their 
genera serve to multiply the conveniences and 
pleasures of man. He derives advantages from 
all that exists, in as much larger a degree to any 
other animal as he is superior to any in his in- 
tellectual exertions and universal capacity. 


So little do we accustom ourselves to consider 
the effects of time, that things necessary and cer- 
tain often surprise us like unexpected contingen- 
cies. We leave the beauty in her bloom ; and 
after an absence of twenty years, wonder, at our 
return, to find her faded. We meet those whom 
we left children, and can scarcely persuade our- 
selves to treat them as men. The traveller visits 
in age those countries through which he rambled 
in his youth, and hopes for merriment at the old 
place. The man of business, wearied with un- 
satisfactory prosperity, retires to the town of his 
nativity, and expects to play away the last years 
with the companions of his childhood, and recover 
youth in the fields where he once was young. — 



DEATH viewed as SLEEP. 

A Death- bed's the detector of the heart. 
Here tir'd dissimulation drops her mask, 
Through life' s grimace that mistress of the scene ; 
Here " real" and " apparent" are the same. 


Death, when unmask'd, shows us a friendly face, 
And is a terror only at a distance. 


NEQU AL as any man must be 
to discuss the many feelings 
experienced by a person on 
the bed of death, yet it is 
quite allowable, — nay more, 
desirable, to let the subject 
occupy much of our waking 
thoughts. " We must all 
die," and therefore the topic cannot be 
deemed irrelevant. 

In our intercourse with society, it is not 
unusual for us to meet with many indivi- 
duals of a most gloomy turn of mind ; and 
we generally find that the morbid feeling ori- 
ginates in an undue excitement of the brain. 
The fact is, people will meddle with what 
is far above their comprehension; and thus 
do they become puzzled, — perplexed, — 

Nearly all the recorded cases of suicide, 
and at least one half the cases of lunacy, 
have their origin in a diseased state of the 
brain, induced by an unwise and an unlawful 
inquiry into what awaits us hereafter. This 
is too much encouraged, we regret to say, by 
those who set themselves up for teachers in 
a matter of which they know positively 
nothing. Hence the unwholesome state of 
mind and body — both among the clergy and 
the laity ; amongst the former, suicides have 
recently been very frequent. 

The prevailing superstition among most 
classes is, that the Creator is austere ; and 
that he requires of us, by way of sacrifice, 
things inconsistent with our temporal happi- 
ness ; and this, with a view to our ensuring 
perfect happiness hereafter. Then do they 
read, and read, and read ; until they become 
lost in a labyrinth. They imagine all sorts 
of things by turn, until they grow nervous ; 
denying themselves many a lawful pleasure, 
and giving themselves up to the strangest 
of delusions. Many of the doctrines of the 
present day with respect to religion, are 
outrageously absurd ; and as dangerous to 
society as they are dishonoring to the God of 
Heaven. The newspapers teem, week after 
week, with the awful consequences of these 
absurdities. It is not religion that drives 
people mad ; and impels them to commit 
suicide. Certainly not. It is the want of 
it. People will pry into futurity, and they 
pay the penalty of their rashness. 

We have offered these few remarks by way 
of introduction to our subject. We want to 
show that death itself is not painful, and that 

it should not be regarded with alarm. In 
Scripture, it is beautifully designated Sleep — 
a word kindly used, and which ought amongst 
reflecting minds to be most thankfully trea- 
sured up. It is not the act of dying that 
frightens people ; but it is the consequences 
of an ill-spent life that they dread. They 
feel they deserve punishment ; and their con- 
science anticipates its righteous administra- 
tion. We have always observed among moral 
people, that those who profess least have been 
the most sincere and upright. Hypocrisy 
may succeed in life ; but it renders a death- 
bed terrible. We have witnessed awful ex- 
amples of this. 

Our pen has ever been raised against this 
mental fallacy, and we shall never desert the 
good cause we have undertaken. We profess 
to love God and his children ; and to do 
what in us lies to make everybody "happy." 
This is our " faith." Eely on it, such a faith 
will never lead to suicide. Oh, no ! But to 
the point. 

The pain of death, says a popular writer, 
must be distinguished from the pain of the 
previous disease ; for when life ebbs, sensi- 
bility declines. This is quite true ; for as 
death is the final extinction of corporeal feel- 
ings, so numbness increases as death Comes 
on. The prostration of disease, like health- 
ful fatigue, engenders a growing stupor — a 
sensation of subsiding softly into a coveted 
repose. The transition resembles what may 
be seen in those lofty mountains, whose sides 
exhibit every climate in regular gradation : 
vegetation luxuriates at their base, and 
dwindles in the approach to the regions of 
snow, till its feeblest manifestation is re- 
pressed by the cold. The so-called agony 
can never be more formidable than when the 
brain is the last to go ; and when the mind 
preserves to the end a rational cognisance of 
the state of the body. Yet persons thus 
situated commonly attest, that there are few 
things in life less painful than the close. 

" If I had strength enough to hold a pen," 
said William Hunter, "I would write how 
easy and delightful it is to die." " If this be 
dying," said the niece of Newton of Olney, 
" it is a pleasant thing to die." "The very 
expression," adds her uncle, " which another 
friend of mine made use of on her death-bed 
a few years ago." The same words have so 
often been uttered under similar circum- 
stances, that whole pages might be occupied 
with instances which are only varied by the 
name of the speaker. " If this be dying," 
said Lady Glenorchy, " it is the easiest thing 
imaginable." " I thought that dying had 
been more difficult," said Louis XIV. " I 
did not suppose it was so sweet to die," said 
Francis Suarez, the Spanish theologian. An 
agreeable surprise was the prevailing senti- 
ment with them all; they expected the 

Vol. IV.— 2. 



stream to terminate in the dash of the tor- 
rent, and they found it was losing itself in the 
gentlest current. Nor does the calm partake 
of the sensitiveness of sickness. There was 
a swell in the sea, the day Collingwood 
breathed his last upon the element which had 
been the scene of his glory. Captain Thomas 
expressed a fear that he was disturbed by the 
tossing of the ship. " No, Thomas," he re- 
plied ; " I am now in a state in which nothing 
in this world can disturb me more ; I am 
dying ; and I am sure it must be consolatory 
to you, and all who love me, to see how com- 
fortably I am coming to my end." 

A second and common condition of the 
dying, is — to be lost to themselves and all 
around them in utter unconsciousness. Coun- 
tenance and gestures might in many cases 
suggest that, however dead to the external 
world, an interior sensibility still remained ; 
but we have the evidence of those whom 
disease has left at the eleventh hour, that 
while their supposed sufferings were pitied 
by their friends, existence was a blank. Mon- 
taigne, when stunned by a fall from his 
horse, tore open his doublet ; but he was en- 
tirely senseless, and only knew afterwards 
that he had done it from the information of 
his attendants. 

The delirium of fever is distressing to wit- 
ness ; but the victim awakes from it as from 
a heavy sleep, totally ignorant that he has 
passed days and nights tossing wearily and 
talking wildly. Perceptions which had oc- 
cupied the entire man, could hardly be ob- 
literated in the instant of recovery ; or, if 
any man were inclined to adopt the solution, 
there is yet a proof that the callousness is 
real, in the unflinching manner in which bad 
sores are rolled upon that are too tender to 
bear touching when the sense is restored. 
Whenever there is insensibility, virtual death 
precedes death itself; and to die is to awake 
in another world. More usually the mind is 
in a state intermediate between activity and 
oblivion. Observers, unaccustomed to sit 
by the bed of death, readily mistake increas- 
ing languor for total insensibility ; but those 
who watch closely can distinguish that the 
ear, though dull, is not deaf — that the eye, 
though dim, is not yet sightless. 

When a bystander remarked of Dr. Wol- 
laston — that his mind was gone, the expiring 
philosopher made a signal for paper and 
pencil, wrote down some figures, and cast 
them up. The superior energy of his cha- 
racter was the principal difference between 
himself and thousands who die and give no 
sign; their faculties survive, so averse to 
even the faintest effort, and they barely tes- 
tify in languid and broken phrases that the 
torpor of the body more than keeps pace 
with the inertness of the mind. The same 
report is given by those who have advanced 

to the very border of the country from 
whence no traveller returns. Montaigne, 
after his accident, passed for a corpse ; and 
the first feeble indications of returning life 
resembled some of the commonest s3^mptoms 
of death. But his own feelings were those 
of a man who is dropping into the sweets of 
slumber, and his longing was towards blank 
rest, and not for recovery. "Methought," 
he says, " my life hung only upon my own 
lips ; and I shut my eyes to help to thrust it 
out, and took a pleasure in languishing and 
letting myself go," 

In many of these instances, as in the cases 
of stupefaction, there are appearances which 
we have learnt to associate with suffering, 
because constantly conjoined with it. A 
cold perspiration bedews the skin, the breath- 
ing is harsh and labored; and sometimes, es- 
pecially in delicate frames, death is ushered 
in by convulsive movements, which look like 
a wrestling with an oppressive enemy. But 
they are signs of debility and a failing system, 
which have no relation to pain. 

There is hardly an occasion, when the 
patient fights more vehemently for life than 
in an attack of asthma ; which in fact is a 
sufficiently distressing disorder before the 
sensibility is blunted and the strength sub- 
dued. But the determination is not to be 
judged by the beginning. Dr. Campbell, the 
well known Scotch professor, had a seizure 
which all but carried him off a few months 
before he succumbed to the disease ; a cordial 
gave him unexpected relief, and his first 
words were to express astonishment at the 
sad countenance of his friends, because his 
own mind, he told them, was in such a state 
at the crisis of the attack, from the expecta- 
tion of immediate dissolution, that there was 
no other way to describe his feelings than by 
saying he was in rapture. Light indeed 
must have been the suffering as he gasped 
for breath ; since physical agony, had it 
existed, would have quite subdued the men- 
tal ecstacy. 

Hard as it may be to control emotions 
with the very heart-strings ready to crack, 
pity demands an effort, in which the strong- 
est affection will be surest of success. The 
grief will not be more bitter in the end, that 
to keep it back had been the last service of 
love. Tears are a tribute, of which those 
who bestow them should bear all the cost. 

When Cavendish, the great chemist, per- 
ceived that his end drew near, he ordered 
his servant to retire, and not to return till a 
certain hour. The servant came back to find 
his master dead. He had chosen to breathe 
out his soul in solitude and silence, and 
would not be distracted by the presence of 
man, since vain was his help. Everybody 
desires to smooth the bed of death ; but 
unreflecting (we too often note the result), 



turns it rather to a bed of thorns. It is 
not always that sickness merges into the 
agony. The strained thread may break at 
last with a sudden snap. This is by no means 
rare in consumption. Burke's son, upon 
whom his father has conferred something of 
his own celebrity, heard his parents sobbing 
in another room at the aspect of an event 
they knew to be inevitable. He rose from 
his bed, joined his illustrious father, and en- 
deavored to engage him in a cheerful con- 
versation. Burke continued silent, choked 
with grief. His son again made an effort to 
console him. "lam under no terror," he 
said; "I feel myself better, and in spirits, 
and yet my heart flatters — I know not why." 
Here a noise attracted his notice, and he ex- 
claimed, " Does it rain ? — No ; it is the 
rustling of the wind through the trees." 
The whistling of the wind and the waving 
of the trees brought Milton's majestic lines 
to his mind, and he repeated them with un- 
common grace and effect : — 

" His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters 

Breathe soft or low ; and wave your tops, ye pines ; 
With every plant, in sign of worship, wave !" 

A second time he took up the sublime and 
melodious strain, and accompanying the 
action to the word, waved his own hand in 
token of worship, and sunk into the arms of 
his father — a corpse. Not a single sensation 
told him that in an instant he would stand 
in the presence of the Creator to whom his 
body was bent in homage, and whose praises 
still resounded from his lips. 

Commonly, the hand of death is felt but 
for one brief moment before the work is 
done. Yet a parting word, or an expression 
of prayer, in which the face and voice retain 
their composure, show that there is nothing 
painful in the warning. It was in this way 
that Boileau expired from the effects of 
dropsy. A friend entered the room where 
he was sitting, and the poet, in one and the 
same breath, bade him hail and farewell ! 
" Good day and adieu !" said he ; " it will be 
a very long adieu !" and instantly died. 

In sudden death, which is not preceded by 
sickness, the course of events is much the 
same — some expire in the performance of 
the ordinary actions of life, some with a half- 
completed sentence on their lips, some in the 
midst of a quiet sleep. Many die without a 
sound ; many with a single sigh ; many with 
merely a struggle and a groan. In other 
instances, there are two or three minutes of 
contest and distress ; and in proportion as 
the termination is distant from the commence- 
ment of the attack, there will be room for 
the ordinary pangs of disease. But, upon 
the whole, there can be no death less awful 
than the death which comes in the midst of 

life, if it were not for the shock it gives the 
survivors, and the probability with most that 
it will find them unprepared. 

When there are only a few beats of the 
pulse, and a few heavings of the bosom, be- 
tween health and the grave, it can signify 
little whether they are the throbbings of pain, 
or the thrills of joy, or the mechanical move- 
ments of an unconscious frame. There is, 
then, no foundation for the idea that the pain 
of dying is the climax to the pain of disease ; 
for unless the stage of the agony is crossed 
at a stride, disease stupifies when it is about 
to kill. If the anguish of the sickness has 
been extreme, so striking from the contrast 
is the ease which supervenes, that, without 
even the temporary revival which distin- 
guishes the lightening before death, " kind 
nature's signal for retreat " is believed to be 
the signal of the retreat of the disease. 

Pushkin, the Russian poet, suffered agony 
from a wound received in a duel. His wife, 
deceived by the deep tranquillity which suc- 
ceeded, left the room with a countenance 
beaming with joy, and exclaimed to the 
physician, "You see he is to live ; he will 
not die." " But at this moment," says the 
narrative, " the last process of vitality had 
already begun." 

Where the symptoms are those of recovery, 
there is in truth more pain to be endured 
than when the issue is death — for sickness 
does not relinquish its hold in relaxing its 
grasp. In the violence which produces 
speedy insensibility, the whole of the down- 
ward course is easy, compared to the subse- 
quent ascent. When Montaigne was stunned, 
he passed from stupor to a dreamy Elysium. 
But when returning life had thawed the 
numbness engendered by the blow, then it 
was that the pains got hold of him which 
imagination pictures as incident to death. 
Cowper, on reviving after his attempt to hang 
himself, thought he was in hell ; and those 
who are taken senseless from the water and 
afterwards recovered, re-echo the sentiment, 
though they may vary the phrase. 

This is what we should upon reflection ex- 
pect. The body is quickly deadened and 
slowly restored ; and from the moment cor- 
poreal sensitiveness returns, the throes of the 
still disordered functions are so many efforts 
of pain. In so far as it is a question of 
bodily suffering, death is the lesser evil of 
the two. 

We come then to the fact, that to die 
means nothing more than to lose the vital 
power ; and it is the vital power which is the 
medium of communication between the soul 
and body. In proportion as the vital power 
decreases, we lose the power of sensation and 
of consciousness ; and we cannot lose life 
without at the same time, or rather before, 



losing our vital sensation, which requires 
the assistance of the tenderest organs. 

As to what lies beyond the grave, — that is 
a question into which it is not our province 
to enter. Yet shall our pen ever be used 
to direct unceasing attention to that very- 
serious thought ; for it shall speak of created 
things which have a voice far more powerful 
than that of silly, idle conjecture. 

Every thing in Nature has a voice 
— if we could but submit to listen to it. 
Our pride is the stumblingblock ! 



Oh, Julie ! you cannot imagine 
How truly I love you, my dear ; 

Do get your mamma's kind permission 
To spend a few weeks with us here. 

The country is brilliant, — enchanting ; 

Sweet melody dwells in the breeze ; 
And fruit in its richness and beauty 

Peeps out from the leaves of the trees. 

On Tuesday we had an excursion 
(A nice pic-nic party, you know), 

To the Park — and we dined on the turf, 
Where those splendid chesnut trees grow. 

The day was replete with enjoyment ; 

Light breezes swept over the plain, — 
The sweet voice of melody blended 

With Joy's light vociferous strain. 

Refreshments were of the first order, 
And served up with excellent taste ; 

A smile of approval was welcomed 

Where wine, fruit, and sweetmeats were 

The pleasure that beamed on all present 
Was greater than words can express ; 

And the day passed in social enjoyment, 
Unsullied by noise or excess. 

Leave the dark, smoky town to the victims 
Of fashion, oppression, and care ; 

Together we'll revel in pleasures 
That God has made spotless and fair. 

The lark shall awake us to join him 
In songs of thanksgiving and praise ; 

The calm soothing breeze of the ev'ning 
Shall waft us the happiest lays. 

The garden is teeming with treasiues 

Of ev'ry bright color and hue, 
Such roses ! do come, dearest Julie, 

And I will still love them with you. 

I want your kind friendship to soothe me, 
Your smile to enhance every joy ; 

Your sweet voice from care to relieve me, 
And Hope's kind endearments employ. 

Oh, say, then, you will not refuse me, 
Do come ! and together we'll rove 
Where lilies and roses are breathing 



The following little episode is from the 
pen of Mrs. Gaskell, author of " Mary Bar- 
ton." It is full of genuine humor, and 
comes home to every one's bosom. A more 
true picture of the realities of life was never 
painted. Miss Barker the mistress, and 
Peggy the maid, we have all seen. Is not 
Mrs. Jamieson, too, hit off to the very life ? 
But let the curtain draw up at once, and the 
performance commence. 

Yes, Miss Betty Barker was a proud and happy 
woman ! She stirred the fire, and shut the door, 
and sat as near to it as she could, quite on the 
edge of her chair. When Peggy came in, trotting 
under the weight of the tea-tray, I noticed that 
Miss Barker was sadly afraid lest Peggy should 
not keep her distance sufficiently. She and her 
mistress were on very familiar terms in their 
every-day intercourse, and Peggy wanted now to 
make several little confidences to her, which Miss 
Barker was on thorns to hear ; but which she 
thought it her duty, as a lady, to repress. So 
she turned away from all Peggy's asides and 
signs ; but she made one or two very mal-apro- 
pos answers to what was said ; and at last, seized 
with a bright idea, she exclaimed, " Poor sweet 
Carlo! I'm forgetting him. Come down stairs 
with me, poor ittie doggie, and it shall have its 
tea, it shall ! " 

In a few minutes she returned, bland and 
benignant as before ; but I thought she had 
forgotten to give the " poor ittie doggie " any- 
thing to eat ; judging by the avidity with which 
he swallowed down chance pieces of cake. The 
tea-tray was abundantly loaded. I was pleased 
to see it, I was so hungry ; but I was afraid the 
ladies present might think it vulgarly heaped up. 
I know they would have done so at their own 
houses ; but somehow the heaps disappeared here. 
I saw Mrs. Jamieson eating seed-cake, slowly 
and considerately, as she did everything ; and I 
was rather surprised, for I knew she had told us, 
on the occasion of her last party, that she never 
had it in her house — it reminded her so much of 
scented soap. She always gave us Savoy 
biscuits. However, Mrs. Jamieson was kindly 
indulgent to Miss Barker's want of knowledge of 
the customs of high life ;, and, to spare her feel- 
ings, ate three large pieces of seed-cake, with a 
placid, ruminating expression of countenance — not 
unlike a cow's. 

After tea there was some little demur and diffi- 
culty. We were six in number ; four could play 
at Preference, and for the other two there was 
Cribbage. But all, except myself — (1 was rather 
afraid of the Cranford ladies at cards, for it was 
the most earnest and serious business they ever 
engaged in) — were anxious to be of the " pool." 
Even Miss Barker, while declaring she did not 
know Spadille from Manille, was evidently 
hankering to take a hand. The dilemma was 
soon put an end to by a singular kind of noise. 
If a Baron's daughte^in-law could ever be sup- 
posed to snore, I should have said Mrs. Jamieson 
did so then ; for, overcome by the heat of the 
room, and inclined to doze by nature, the tempta- 
tion of that very comfortable arm-chair had been 



too much for her, and Mrs. Jamieson was nodding. 
Once or twice she opened her eyes with an effort, 
and calmly but unconsciously smiled upon us ; 
hut, hy-and-by, even her benevolence was not 
equal to this exertion, and she was sound asleep. 

" It is very gratifying to me," whispered Miss 
Barker at the card-table to her three opponents, 
whom, notwithstanding her ignorance of the game, 
she was " basting " most unmercifully — " very 
gratifying indeed, to see how completely Mrs. 
Jamieson feels at home in my poor little dwelling ; 
she could not have paid me a greater compli- 

Miss Barker provided me with some literature, 
in the shape of three or four handsomely bound 
Fashion-books, ten or twelve years old — observing, 
as she put a little table and a candle for my 
especial benefit, that she knew young people 
liked to look at pictures. Carlo lay, and snorted, 
and started at his mistress's feet. He, too, was 
quite at home. 

The card -table was an animated scene to 
watch ; four ladies' heads, with niddle-noddling 
caps, all nearly meeting over the middle of the 
table, in their eagerness to whisper quick enough 
and loud enough ; and every now and then came 
Miss Barker's "Hush, ladies! if you please, 
hush ! Mrs. Jamieson is asleep." 

It was very difficult to steer clear between 
Mrs. Forrester's deafness and Mrs. Jamieson's 
sleepiness. But Miss Barker managed her 
arduous task well. She repeated the whisper to 
Mrs. Forrester, distorting her face considerably, 
in order to show, by the motions of her lips, what 
was said ; and then she smiled kindly all round 
at us, and murmured to herself, " Very gratifying, 
indeed ; I wish my poor sister had been alive to 
see this day." 

Presently the door was thrown wide open ; 
Carlo started to his feet, with a loud snapping 
bark ; and Mrs. Jamieson awoke : or, perhaps, 
she had not been asleep — as she said almost 
directly, the room had been so light she had been 
glad to keep her eyes shut, but had been listening 
with great interest to all our amusing and agree- 
able conversation. Peggy came in once more, red 
with importance. Another tray ! Oh, gentility !■ " 
thought I, "can you endure this last shock?" 
For Miss Barker had ordered (nay, I doubt not 
prepared, although she did say, " Why ! Peggy, 
what have you brought us ? " and looking plea- 
santly surprised at the unexpected pleasure) all 
sorts of good things for supper — scolloped oysters, 
potted lobsters, jelly, a dish called "little 
Cupids," (which was in great favor with the 
Cranford ladies ; although too expensive to be 
given, except on solemn and state occasions — 
maccaroons sopped in brandy, I should have 
called it, if I had not known its more refined and 
classical name). In short, we were evidently to 
be feasted with all that was sweetest and best ; 
and we thought it better to submit graciously, 
even at the cost of our gentility — which never ate 
suppers in general — but which, 
supper-eaters, was particularly 
special occasions. 

Miss Barker, in her former 
dare say, been made acquainted 
beverage they call "cherry-brandy." 

like most 

on all 

shrunk back when she proferred us — "just a 
little, leetle glass, ladies ; after the oysters and 
lobsters, you know. Shell-fish are sometimes 
thought not very wholesome." We all shook 
our heads like female mandarins ; but, at last, 
Mrs. Jamieson suffered herself to be persuaded, 
and we followed her lead. It was not exactly 
unpalatable, though so hot and so strong that we 
thought ourselves bound to give evidence that 
we were not accustomed to such things, by cough- 
ing terribly — almost as strangely as Miss Barker 
had done, before we were admitted by Peggy. 

" It's very strong," said Miss Pole, as she put 
down her empty glass ; "I do believe there's 
spirit in it ! " 

" Only a leetle drop — just necessary to make 
it ' keep ! ' " said Miss Barker. " You know we 
put brandy-paper over preserves to make them 
' keep.' " I often feel tipsy myself from eating- 
damson tart." 

It is pleasant to fall in with women like 
Mrs. Gaskell. She tells her story so com- 
placently, and puts all the tints in so natu- 
rally, that her sketch may be pronounced 
perfect. Peggy, " red with importance," 
Miss Barker " distorting her face consi- 
derably," to make her deaf visitor (Mrs. 
Forrester) comprehend her speech; and 
finally, that " cherry-brandy ; " we repeat it, 
the sketch is admirable. 

By-the-by, the name of the book whence 
we have filched this little Village Tea-Party, 
is — " Cranford." 




sphere, had, I 
with the 


of us had ever seen such a thins;, and rather 

" Yes ! " I answered you last night — 
"No ! " this morning, sir, I say — 

Colors seen by candlelight 

Cannot look the same by day. 

When the tabors played their best, 
And the dancers were not slow, 

" Love me " sounded like a jest, 
Fit for "yes "or fit for "no." 

Thus, the sin is on us both : 
Was to dance a time to woo ? 

Wooer light makes fickle troth — 
Scorn of me recoils on you. 

Learn to win a lady's faith 
Nobly, as the thing is high — 

Bravely, as in fronting death — 
With a virtuous gravity. 

Lead her from the painted boards — 
Point her to the starry skies — 

Guard her, by your truthful words, 
Pure from courtship's flatteries. 

By your truth she shall be true, 
Ever true as wives of yore ; 

And her " yes," once said to you, 
Shall be yes for evermore. 




Suspicion ever haunts the guilty mind. 


Of all 
Our passions, I wonder Nature made 
The worst, foul Jealousy, her favorite ! 
And, if it be not so, why took she eare 
That every thing should give the monster nourish- 
And left l t s nothing to destroy it with ? 


We have ever observed, that Suspi- 
cion and Jealousy are foster-children — their 
habitation, a heart naturally depraved ; one 
that sets virtue at defiance. 

There are some defects of the mind, aris • 
ing from a neglect of early education, that 
may by kindness and argument be ail-but 
eradicated; but these, never. They are foul 
blots on the fair face of humanity. Ever anti- 
cipating evil, suspicious people see by a 
morbid reflection, things that never had — 
never could have had an existence. Thus 
are they always creating a poisonous diet on 
which to feed. The poison flows in their 
veins, and the whole system is radically cor- 
rupt. They are living volcanoes of mischief — 
a terror to themselves, and a pest to those 
with whom they are unfortunately asso- 
ciated. They render matrimony hateful. 

We have been urged to write an " Essay" 
on the subject, and to point out whereby 
these evils can be "cured." This is a moral 
impossibility. We dare not attempt it. All 
we can do — is, to enforce upon parents 
the necessity there is for paying the 
strictest attention to their children's earliest 
education. Let them mark their failings, 
and correct them in time. The twig may be 
bent, when the tree is too obstinate to yield 
to force. 

The world is full of painful examples of 
parental neglect. Our newspapers groan 
with the " consequences." Horrible details 
of crime, in which suspicion and jealousy 
figure prominently, meet the eye daily ; and 
we always find, whilst perusing the evidence, 
that these vices have gained strength from 
their having been unchecked in infancy. We 
can never begin to teach a child too soon. 

Let us add that, as contact is very danger- 
ous where the heart is naturally depraved, 
children of a better principle should never be 
allowed to associate with such as give early 
indication of the mental depravity of which 
we speak. 

We owe a duty to the world and to each 
other; and must never knowingly scatter 
firebrands amongst those who delight in 
cultivating the nobler principles of the 
human heart. 

Parents ! listen to this warning voice. 

Religion stands in no need whatever of Art. 
It rests on its own majesty. 


Your whale can swallow a hogshead for a pill, 
But the Maker of the mousetrap, 'tis he that hath the 
skill. _____ Ben Jonson. 

We have all been young ; and it is 

truly said that you "cannot put old heads 
upon young shoulders." Every one must get 
experience and "pay" for it. This both in 
body and in purse. 

At this season, the Country, — our "Water- 
ing Places "in particular, — (Margate, Rams- 
gate, Brighton, &c, to wit), is flooded by 
visitors of the genus "gent." There is no 
mistake about their identity. Moses is their 
I outfitter, and the " cut " is undeniable. We 
| find them in armies — fluttering about our 
steam-boats, and on our railways, passim. 
We look for their extensive " summer tie " 
(the ends projecting fearfully on each side of 
their figure-head), and we cry — there it is ! 
Zebra-like, the " gent " is striped all over, — 
his dress bespeaking the man and his mind. 
We owe Moses and his patrons a heavy debt 
of gratitude. 

Now let us behold the " gent " at his hotel. 
How immense he looks, as he bears down 
upon the poor waiter with his repeated calls 
and " orders," — abusing him for his inatten- 
tion. Here the "gent" is at home. Our 
city clerks, too, — how they do " come out " 
in the summer ! What with their bejewelled 
fingers, cool ties, remarkable hats, and sum- 
mer " make up," — amusement never flags. 
Our good city sends out some rich specimens 
of " fast men," of " refined taste." 

All the gentry we are pointing at — good- 
naturedly, be it said — are excellent judges of 
wine. They always abuse the first bottle, 
and very frequently the second, — just to shew 
their acumen. The landlord is called in. 
He hem's and ha's, is very sorry, very sorry 
indeed ; it is all a mistake. But he will rectify 
it. He disappears. The door soon re-opens. 
A smiling look, and a wink (the wink does 
it !) convince the grumblers that all is now 
" right." They taste and are delighted. " I 
knew you could do the thing, landlord! " cries 
Dobson ; and mine host replies — " / should 
think so ! " This game has now commenced, 
and will be played at for some three months 
longer. Ahem ! 

"In vino Veritas." 

" There is no deceit in wine." — Is there not ! 

Having drawn our " little sketch," we will 
now recommend for the benefit of the parties 
interested, the perusal of a short dialogue. 
This dialogue took place between a man 
named Burley (formerly landlord of an hotel, 
but now retired) and one of his former cus- 
tomers. They met by chance ; and both 
being in good humor, and the landlord now 
a " private gentleman," their discourse hap- 
pened thus. (Poole is our authority, there- 
fore we are clear of offence) : — 



" You can't deny it, Buvley ; your wines of all 
kinds, were detestable — port, Madeira, claret, 
champagne — " 

" There now, sir ! to prove Low much gentlemen 
may be mistaken, I assure you, sir, as I'm an 
honest man, I never had but two sorts of wine in 
my collar — port and sherry." 

" How ! when I myself have tried your claret, 

" Yes, sir — my claret, sir. One is obliged to 
give gentlemen everything they ask for, sir ; gen- 
tlemen who pay their money, sir, have a right to 
be served with whatever they may please to order, 
sir — especially the young gentlemen from Cam- 
bridge, sir. I'll tell you how it was, sir. I would 
never have any wines in my house, sir, but port 
and sherry, because I knew them to be wholesome 
wines, sir ; and this I will say, sir, my port and 
sherry were the — very — best I could procure in all 

''How! the best?" 

" Yes, sir — at the price I paid for them. But 
to explain the thing at once, sir. You must know, 
sir, that I hadn't been long in business, when I 
discovered that gentlemen know very little about 
wine ; but that if they didn't find some fault or 
other, they would appear to know mueh less — 
always excepting the young gentlemen from Cam- 
bridge, sir ; and they are excellent judges!" [And 
here again Burley's little eyes twinkled a humorous 
commentaiy on the concluding words of his sen- 
tence.] " Well, sir ; with respect to my dinner 
wines, I was always tolerably safe ; gentlemen sel- 
dom find fault at dinner ; so whether it might hap- 
pen to be Madeira, or pale sherry, or brown, or — " 

" Why, just now you told me you had but two 
sorts of wine in your cellar ! " 

" Very true, sir ; port and sherry. But this 
was my plan, sir. If any one ordered Madeira : — 
From one bottle of sherry take two glasses of 
wine, which replace by two glasses of brandy, 
and add thereto a slight squeeze of lemon ; and 
this I found to give general satisfaction, especially 
to the young gentlemen from Cambridge, sir. But, 
upon the word of an honest man, I could scarcely 
get a living profit by my Madeira, sir, for I always 
used the best brandy. As to the pale and brown 
sherry, sir — a couple of glasses of nice pure water, 
in place of the same quantity of wine, made what 
I used to call my delicate pale (by-the-by, a 
squeeze of lemon added to that made a very fair 
Bucellas, sir — a wine not much called for now, 
sir) : and for my old brown sherry, a leetle burnt 
sugar was the thing. It looked very much like 
sherry that had been twice to the East Indies, 
sir ; and, indeed, to my customers who were very 
particular about their wthes, I used to serve it as 

" But, Mr. Burley, was not such a proceeding 
of a character rather — " 

" I guess what you would say, sir ; but I knew 
it to be a wholesome wine at bottom, sir. But my 
port was the wine which gave me the most trouble. 
Gentlemen seldom agree about port, sir. One 
gentleman would say, ' Burley, I don't like this 
wine — it is too heavy ! " 'Is it, sir? I think I can 
find you a lighter." Out went a glass of wine, 
and in went a glass of water. 'Well, sir,' I'd 
say, ' how do you approve of that ? ' Why — um, 
—no ; I can't say — ' ' I understand, sir, you like 

an older wine — softer. I think I can please you, 
sir.' Pump again, sir. 'Now, sir,' says I (wiping 
the decanter with a napkin, and triumphantly 
holding it up to the light), 'try this, if you please.' 
' That's it, Burley — that's the very wine ; bring 
another bottle of the same.' But one can't please 
everybody the same way, sir. Some gentlemen 
would complain of my port being poor — without 
body. In went one glass of brandy. If that 
didn't answer, s 'Aye, gentlemen,' says I, 'I know 
what will please you, — you like a fuller bodied, 
rougher wine.' Out went two glasses of wine, and 
in went two or three glasses of brandy. This used 
to be a very favorite wine — but only with the 
young gentlemen from Cambridge, sir." 
" And your claret f " 

" My good wholesome port again, sir. Three 
wines out, three waters in, one pinch of tartaric 
acid, two ditto orris-powder. For a fuller claret, 
a little brandy ; for a lighter claret, more 

" But how did you contrive about Burgundy ?" 
" That was my claret, sir, with from three to six 
drops of bergamot, according as gentlemen liked 
a full flavor or a delicate flavor. As for cham- 
pagne, sir, that, of course, I made myself." 
" How do you mean ' of course," Burley? " 
" Oh, sir," said he, with an innocent yet waggish 
look ; " surely everybody makes his own cham- 
pagne — else what can become of all the goose- 
berries ? " 

We sincerely hope, as OUR Journal finds its 
way into all places of public hospitality (we 
do not like the word "Inns"), that some of 
the gentleman-connoisseurs in wine will take 
it up after dinner, and indulge in a hearty 

If we were to laugh at ourselves more fre- 
quently than we do, it would be better for us 
— and for the public too ! 


My Helen ! leave thy silken thread 

And flowery tapestrie : 
Come, see the roses on the bush, 

The blossoms on the tree ; 
Stoop where thou wilt, thy lovely hand 

Some random bud will meet ; 
Thou can'st not tread, but thou wilt find 

The daisy at thy feet. 

'Tis like the birthday of the world, 

When earth was born in bloom; 
The light is made of many dyes, 

The air is all perfume. 
Lo ! crimson buds, and white and blue ; 

The very rainbow showers 
Have turned to blossoms where they fell, 

And sown the earth with flowers. 

Lo ! fairy tulips in the east, 

The garden of the sun ; 
Aye, every stream reflects the hues 

And blossoms as they run ; 
While morn opes like a crimson rose, 

Still wet with pearly showers ; 
Then Helen, leave the silken thread 

Thou twinest into flowers ! 





Ye reverend Fathers, " why" make such objec- 

" Why" raise such a cry against Convents' In- 
spection ? 

Is it not just the thing to confound the deceivers, 

And confute all the slanders of vile unbelievers ? 

It strikes me that people in your situation 
Should welcome, invite, and court investigation — 
As much as to say, " Come and see, if you 

doubt us ; 
We defy you to find any evil about us." 

For my part, I think, if I held your persuasion, 
I much should desire to improve the occasion ; 
And should catch at the chance, opportunely 

Of showing how well Nuns are lodged, used, and 


That as to the notion of cruel inflictions 

Of penance — such tales are a bundle of fictions ; 

And that all that we hear of constraint and 

Is, to speak in mild language, mere groundless 


That an Abbess would not — any more than a 

Mayoress — 
Ever dream of inveigling an opulent heiress ; 
That each convent's the home of devotion and 

And that nothing is thought about, there, but 


That no Nuns exist their profession regretting, 
Who kept in confinement are pining and fretting ; 
And to fancy there might be one such, though a 

Implies a most sad destitution of charity. 

That all sisters are doves — without mates — of 

one feather, 
In holy tranquillity living together ; 
Whose dovecote the bigots have found a mare's 

nest in, 
Because its arrangements are rather clandestine. 

Nay ; i" should have gone, out of hand, to Sin 

As a Frenchman would probably call him, and 

" axed 'un," 
As countrymen say — his ingenious noddle 
Of a New Crystal Convent to scratch for a model. 

Transparent and open, inquiry not shirking, 
Like bees you might watch the good Nuns in it, 

working ; 
And study their habits, observe all their motions, 
And see them performing their various " devo- 

This is what I should do — on a sound cause 
relying ; 

Not run about bellowing, raving, and crying ; 
/shouldn't exhibit all that discomposure, 
Unless in the dread of some startling disclosure. 

" What " makes you betray such tremendous 

To prevent the least peep into those haunts of 

piety ? 
People say there's " a bag" in your Convents; — 


And you are afraid you'll have " Pussy" let out 
of it ! ! ! 




We were now about to see Nature in 
a new and awful form, by witnessing the be- 
ginning of an eruption at Vesuvius. Before 
quitting Naples, we heard reports that an 
approaching tumult in the mountain was 
anticipated. Volleys of smoke ascended, 
from time to time, from the crater, or lay 
curled in clouds on the summit. The wells 
at Naples were becoming dry, while those at 
Resina were overflowing ; loud noises, too, 
were heard on the mountain, and it was 
rumored that fire had been seen by night. 

Upon reaching the house of Salvator at 
Resina, the principal Vesuvius guide, he told 
us that the mountain was in action ; that a 
new crater had been opened the night before, 
and was sending forth flames and stones. We 
speedily mounted our donkeys — poor miser- 
able little creatures, which had already been 
up the mountain twice during the preceding 
twenty-four hours — and started, full of ex- 
pectation. For some time our path lay 
between walls built of blocks of lava, strewn 
with volcanic stones. In about three-quarters 
of an hour we reached a wide current of 
lava, that of 1810 ; it was like a frozen Styx. 
The scene was one of wild desolation ; not a 
trace of vegetation was seen. Black, dark, 
and barren was the surface of the earth ; in 
some places the lava, arrested in its course, 
resembled petrified waves, whilst in others, 
it formed a hard compact surface ; our guide 
pointed out to us the streams of lava of 18 ID, 
1822, and 1833. 

On a hill formed of volcanic products, 
raised like a ridge high above the currents 
of lava that have swept past it on either side, 
stands the hermitage. One solitary friar had 
pitched his tent in this wilderness, and had 
lived here nearly twenty years ; never quit- 
ting the spot, even during the most awful 
eruptions of the mountain. Here we halted 
for twenty minutes, to rest our poor little 
steeds. The lava, which we had before 
crossed in comparatively regular streams, 
was now piled about in huge blocks, amongst 
which we picked our way with difficulty. 
We soon arrived at the foot of the cone ; 
and here we were obliged to leave our don- 
keys, and commit ourselves to the mercy of 
twelve portantini, or bearers. The soil is so 



loose, and the ascent so frightfully steep, 
that no animal, except man, can find a 

I do not remember ever in my life to have 
been so entirely overcome with terror, as in 
the scene which followed. The ladies of our 
party were placed in small arm-chairs, 
fastened upon long poles, which the men 
supported on their shoulders. Imagine what 
it was to be thus lifted up by twelve men, 
who sank knee-deep in the ashes at every 
step ; and whose footing was so uncertain 
and irregular, that I was one minute thrown 
to one side of the chair, and the next flung 
violently forward, and then as suddenly 
jerked back again. All the time the men 
screamed as Neapolitans only can scream. 
The portantini who were carrying one of my 
friends fell down all at once, and this was the 
signal for my bearers to rush past them, 
yelling with delight. So wild and uncivilised 
a set of beings you never saw, and the noise 
they made was something quite unearthly. 
I completely lost my presence of mind, and 
in piteous tones besought the men to let me 
get down and walk ; but instead of heeding 
my entreaties, they only raced on the more 

When I reached the summit, after having 
endured this terror for three-quarters of an 
hour, I sat down and buried my face in my 
hands, unable to speak. After a little while, 
when I raised my eyes and looked around, 
what words can picture the scene that pre- 
sented itself \ We were standing on the 
edge of the large basin, in the centre of which 
were the craters in action. When all our 
party were assembled, we followed our guide, 
and proceeded towards them, scrambling 
over rocks of hot lava, and stepping across 
deep chasms, from which rose a hot sulphu- 
reous exhalation. I can never forget the feel- 
ings of that moment. I had lately seen nature 
in her most grand and lovely forms, and re- 
membered with delight the sublime beauty 
of Switzerland ; but here I beheld her under 
a new aspect — awful, terrific, and over- 
whelming — working in the secret places of 
the earth with a power of destructive and 
mysterious energy, and revealing itself to 
man in fearful and desolating might. I 
gazed, and thought of Herculaneum and 

We stopped on a high point of lava, and 
looked into the mighty cauldron beneath us. 
Loud subterranean noises were heard from 
time to time — the mountain seemed shaken 
to its centre ; then columns of bright clear 
flame spouted forth from the crater, suc- 
ceeded by volumes of dense black smoke. 
Red-hot stones and masses of rock were 
hurled hundreds of feet into the air ; some 
falling back into the crater, while others, 
dashed into a thousand pieces, were scattered 

around. After standing on this pinnacle for 
some time, the guide led the way to the 
very edge of the crater. I felt that I had 
seen enough, and begged to be left behind, 
being indeed too cowardly to venture on. 
The rest of the party, however, had suf- 
ficient courage and curiosity to explore 
further I asked our guide if there was 
really any danger ; he looked at me earnestly, 
and simply said, " Signorina gentilissima, ho 
sei piccolini in casa ! " — ("Gentle lady, I 
have six little children at home.") Could 
any words have conveyed a stronger assu- 
rance than this touching appeal ? It gave 
me courage, and I proceeded with the others. 

And now we stood beside the crater ; and 
as each volley of smoke and flame subsided, 
we peeped into the abyss. Then came a 
hollow fearful sound, the earth beneath us 
trembled, the smoke and flame again as- 
cended ; stones were shot up into the air 
high above our heads. Suddenly the wind 
changed, and our position was by no means 
an enviable one ; the smoke and sulphureous 
vapor were blown towards us, and red-hot 
stones fell in showers around. Every one 
was now terrified ; we fled like a herd of 
startled deer, and scrambling up the hill as 
fast as the loose and slippery soil would 
permit, only turned to look back when we 
had reached the top. We were now content 
with a more distant view, and lingered long 
near the crater, reluctant to leave a spot 
which we were so unlikely ever to visit again. 

At length we prepared to descend the 
mountain. I had dismissed my chair, 
determined to trust alone to my feet. Sup- 
ported by a friend and one of the guides, I 
advanced down the precipitous descent, 
slowly and cautiously at first ; but gaining 
courage as we proceeded, I soon ran briskly 
on, and in four minutes reached the foot of 
the cone which it had cost us so much time, 
toil, and suffering to ascend. Remounting 
our donkeys, we soon joined those of our 
party who had not ventured on the ascent, 
and as we drove back to Naples, related to 
them our adventures. But how vain were 
all our endeavors to give utterance to the 
thoughts and feelings which this day's 
excursion had awakened ! W. 


The man whom I call deserving the name, is 
one whose thoughts and exertions are for others 
rather than for himself, — whose high purpose is 
adopted on just principles, and never abandoned 
while Heaven or earth affords means of accom- 
plishing it. He is one who will neither seek an 
indirect advantage by a specious road, nor take 
an evil path to gain a real good purpose. Such a 
man were one, for whom a woman's heart should 
beat constantly while he breathes — and break 
when he dies. — Sir Walter Scott. 




So spake the grisly terror ; and in shape, 
So speaking, and so threatening, grew tenfold 
More horrid and deform'd. 


There are many things going forward in this 
world of ours, that people get " used " to by often 
seeing them ; and whilst bustling about in the 
giddy throng, intent upon matters of business, time 
hardly permits one to "reflect" much upon what is 
really passing before the eye. 

It is wisely ordered, however, that as the seasons 
roll over, we should seek a little temporary refuge 
from excessive care and anxiety. Summer heat 
comes upon us, and brings lassitude with it. We 
are weary of "work," and the mind needs rest. 
Then it is that we look about us, and as we wander 
abroad, ponder upon the animated picture of human 
life that, in one continuous flood, pours itself forth 
to see and be seen. 

Just now, in particular, the " perpetual motion " 
seems likely to be discovered. Everything having 
four legs, seems remorselessly pressed into the ser- 
vice of those who have but two ; whilst steam and 
electricity unite in the completion of the circle, 
which, when formed, knows no rest in its onward 

Now is it that women study hard, — the theme, 
how best they can remove all traces of that 
sweet symmetry which toe call beautiful ; present- 
ing to the eye an alarming mis-shapen mass of 
rustling drapery. The contempt of these perfumed 
butterflies for each other, as they sail past us like 
the revolving wings of a windmill, is, we admit, 
perfect of its kind.* Yet do we not recognise the 
severe correctness of their ideas as to the " line of 
beauty." Female loveliness must not be sought 
for in summer. Oh — no ! Women's summer-value 
must, — sad to say it ! — be estimated by their 

Then the " fashionable bonnets " of the present 
day ! Are they not hideous monstrosities, perfectly 
unendurable ? To see a pretty figure-head, — or, 
to make a joke, allowable in hot weather, a pretty 
pre-face — standing out like a sign-post on a high 
road ; is it not flagitious? How can we " love " 
such a face, so inhumanly fitted up, — or rather, so 
cruelly punished (for the tyrant Fashion nearly 
strangles its pretty victims) ? We repeat it, — it is 
too bad. Oh ! that we were in Parliament but 
for one short week ! Woman's claim to the right 
of deformity should no longer be recognised by the 
law of the land. We would restore her to her 
''original " shape, and then — die happy. 

We do lay some claim to the thanks of the fair 
sex, for having won them by the flourish of our 

* The "immensity of space " occupied by the 
drapery of our modern fashionable ladies, has been 
most amusingly described by our Cambridge corres- 
pondent " Walter"(see vol. 3, p. 254). It really is 
surprising to observe how very much can be made 
out of so very little ! We must confess, that the 
Noli-me-tangere air of these panting victims liketh 
us not. It is really difficult to get " comfortably 
near " to them. And when you do j)erchance suc- 
ceed, you are sure to do mischief! 

pen (far less dangerous than the flourish of their 
parasols, of which we spoke in our last to some 
purpose) to adopt the humanising Bodice of 
Mesdames Marion and Maitland. We observe that 
women now sit their horses with less bodily pain, 
and move about the streets less like automata than 
they formerly did. Their liver too has more fair 
play, and their ribs are not so cruelly crushed as 
of yore. And is their "shape" at all injured by 
wearing this elastic, this comfortable life preserver? 
So far from it, that ease and elegance become 
naturally associated.* Woman, — dear woman ! 
(pardon our enthusiasm) — do — we beseech you, be 
natural ! 

This paper must not be tediously long. We 
will therefore only enter our protest, en passant, 
against the received custom of habiting our young 
ladies like mountebanks, tricking them out with 
every meretricious ornament that bad taste can 
invent. Surely, legs feathered to the instep by 
ungainly loose pants, speak little for the 
" modesty" of the wearers ; whose brazen frontis- 
pieces, covered by gigantic Victoria Regia flapping 
straw hats, with ribboned pennons, are a national 
blot. These fly-away deformities of incipient 
woman, haunt our steps wherever we turn. The 
ages of the victims vary from eight to seventeen. 
No " sweet seventeen" have we here. Oh no ! 

Then, as regards the et infras — the little duo- 
decimos whom we want to love, but cannot ; how 
hideously are they arrayed ! Why they are a 
little army of dwarfs, just fit for exhibition at 
Bartlemy, or Tiddi-dol fairs. Lavish are their 
" fond" parents in their unceasing endeavors to 
extinguish all traces of humanity in their off- 
spring ! They try hard at it, and are but too 
successful in their efforts. 

We see our mortal aversion, the " Shrouds," or 
" Uglies," are out again ! Death-like female phan- 
toms are everywhere gliding along the streets and 
highways, with this " infernal machine" attached 
to their bonnets. We repeat it — London is not 
the place for the exhibition of these very disgust- 
ing inventions. Why will husbands, fathers, 
guardians, permit such atrocities to be perpe- 
trated? They tell us, "they cannot help it." 

* It is impossible for any feeling heart to see 
unmoved, the cruel, the inhuman tortures inflicted 
upon some of our West-End young ladies, — deli- 
cate blossoms, who ride out on horseback with 
their papas. We very frequently pass them in 
Portland Place, and stand aghast when we note 
the unnaturally-reduced proportions of their waists 
and bodies. The pain they suffer from this very 
wicked outrage upon nature, is but too observable ; 
but " Fashion " laughs at pain ! We speak not of 
the brazen, belted, Amazonian damsels, who with 
such effrontery tear up and down Rotten Row. 
We regard them, with their Brigand hats, and in- 
terminable dresses (bad " habits ! "), as irreclaim- 
able. They are very disgusting, — masculine 
depravities. There is nothing feminine in their 
look or maimer. No ; those for whom we plead 
are the gentler spirits, — promising rose-buds 
which we daily see perishing, as it were, from 
blight. Let these fair creatures take our advice, 
and equip themselves with a Resilient Bodice. 
They will then look both natural and beautiful. 



Nonsense ! In this matter it is a solemn duty to 
be firm. 

In the Heart of the country we see no possible 
objection to their use. Whilst riding or driving, 
with an intensely hot sun perpendicularly shining 
on the head, their adoption is not only allowable 
but commendable. A kind friend residing in 
Hampshire, whilst Ave were recently chatting 
to her, mysteriously produced one of these 
" shrouds," and laughingly said, "Look at this, 
Mr. Editor ! " We did look, and were pleased 
to see it in use in that part of the country. Let 
us remark, that the fair wearer emphatically said 
she agreed with us, that such things ought not 
to be worn in cities. They were only for comfort, 
and to protect the countenance from the fervid 
heat of the noon-day sun. 

But we have had our say. We fear that little 
good will result from any attack we may make 
on that hydra — "Fashion," and therefore pursue it 
no further. 

As regards the " Summer Fashions" prevailing 
among men and boys, with their wide-awake 
hats, cool ties, loose attire, monkey-like coats, 
&c. &c. — on these matters we must be silent. It 
is said that this class are only half a remove from 
the race of monkeys. When we see them in 
their " Summer attire," fully redolent of Moses 
and pomatum, and wedded to pipes, tobacco, 
gin, and beer, we sometimes think monkeys are, 
of the two, the most rational. It is a compliment, 
to which we consider the genus Simla is fairly 

One thing is certain — wherever these summer 
curiosities are found, our whereabout will be at 
their antipodes. 



Sweetly now she sleepeth ! Dreams, be bright 

and fair — 
Snowy breasts, swell lightly ; breath, enrich the 

air ; 
Morning, gently wake her; winds, your softest 

sigh ; 
Dews and vapors, vanish ; sunshine, fill the sky ! 

Beaming now in beauty — flowers, rise round her 

feet ; 
Grass, spring up all grateful ; bless her footsteps 

Golden noon, look on her ; clouds, her presence 

flee ; 
Bluest Heaven in her eye — sun, your rival see ! 

Meekly now she resteth ! Day, be still and pray ; 
Softening shadows, gather ; flickering fancies, 

Western skies, in purple glowing glory fade ; 
Evening star, beam o'er her — twilight, through 

thy shade. 

Fondly now she sleepeth! Love, be watch and 

ward ! 
Lilies are her eyelids. Rose, whom no thorns 

guard ; 
God, still sweeter make her ; sleep, refresh her 

charms ; 
Holy night, thus keep her, — folded in my arms ! 


Many persons have expressed their sur- 
prise, when beholding the various colors 
imparted at certain seasons to the waters of 
the great deep. It is quite true that they 
do exhibit various hues, which depend upon 
a variety of circumstances. 

The ocean absorbs all the prismatic colors 
except that of ultramarine, which is reflected 
in every direction. This is its true color in 
general, when seen apart from atmospheric 
influence, modified by depth ; but every 
gleam of sunshine, passing clouds, winds, 
shoals, and sandbanks, affect its tints. Par- 
ticular parts of the ocean show peculiar 
colors. The sea is white in the Gulf of 
Guinea, and black amid the Maldive Islands. 
Variously purple, red, and rose-colored 
waters occur in the higher parts of the 
Mediterranean, in the vermillion sea off Cali- 
fornia, the Red Sea, and in tracts along the 
coasts of Chili, Brazil, and Australia. Green 
water appears in the Persian Gulf, off the 
Arabian Coast, and in connection with the 
deepest blue in the Arctic Ocean. 

These appearances are permanent, and so 
distinct, that ships have been seen partly in 
blue and partly in green water at the same 
time. The tints are occasioned by differently- 
colored animalcules, which swam in countless 
myriads in the tracts in question. The same 
species of animalcules [Tricliodesmium 
Erythrceum) which color the Red Sea have 
been found in other similarly -tinted districts 
of the ocean. 

The green of the Arctic Seas is produced 
also by minute animals, which visit in spring 
the coast of Holland, and have been encoun- 
tered in immense shoals migrating in the 
Atlantic. In the Antarctic regions, Sir 
James Ross remarked repeatedly the change 
of color of the sea, from light oceanic blue to 
a dirty brown, caused by ferruginous 
animalculse. The phosphorescence of the 
ocean, a magnificent and imposing spectacle, 
when the waves scintillate with bright green 
sparks, or exhibit a long line of fire flashing 
in a thousand directions, is mainly caused by 
minute organic beings, which are phospho- 
rescent while alive ; a property retained by 
the gelatinous particles with which certain 
tracts of the deep are thickly charged — 
their dead and dismembered relics. At the 
same time, a disturbed electrical condition of 
the atmosphere may be most favorable to 
the phenomenon. 


No man should be so much taken up in the 
search of truth, as thereby to neglect the more 
necessary duties of active life ; for after all is done, 
it is action only that gives a true value and 
commendation to virtue. — Cicero. 


In an interesting book of " Travels 
in Tropical South Africa,'" by Francis Gal- 
ton, there are some curious facts detailed 
of the habits and manners of the people, 
that deserve attention. We have made two 
random extracts. The first refers to the 
savage nature of uncivilised man, and ex- 
hibits a lamentable picture of the human 
heart in a state of wildness. The Damaras 
are the people spoken of, and here is a 
specimen of — 


It is very difficult to find out how many 
people are killed or wounded on occasions like 
these. Hyenas soon devour the dead bodies, and 
those who survive scatter in all directions ; so that 
no clue remains towards the numbers missing. I 
saw two poor women : one with both legs cut off 
at her ankle joints, and the other with one. They 
had crawled the whole way on that eventful 
night, from Schmelen's Hope to Barmen, some 
twenty miles . The Hottentots had cut them off 
after their usual habit, in order to cut off the solid 
iron anklets that they wear. These wretched 
creatures showed me how they had stopped the 
blood, by poking the wounded stumps into the 
sand. A European would certainly have bled to 
death under such circumstances. 

One of Jonker's sons, a hopeful youth, came 
to a child that had been dropped on the ground, 
and who lay screaming there ; and he leisurely 
gouged out its eyes with a small stick. I saw 
another horrible sight on the way, which has 
often haunted me since. We had taken a short 
cut, and were a day and a half from our wagons ; 
when I observed some smoke in front, and rode 
to see what it was. An immense blackthorn tree 
was smouldering, and from the quantity of ashes 
about, there was all the appearance of its having 
burnt for along time. Near it were tracks that 
we could make nothing of; no foot-marks, only 
an impression of a hand here and there. We 
followed them, and found a wretched woman, 
most horribly emaciated ; both her feet were 
burnt quite off, and the wounds were open and 
unhealed. Her account was, that many days 
back she and others were encamping there ; and 
when she was asleep, a dry but standing tree, 
which they had set fire to, fell down, and entan- 
gled her among its branches. There she was 
burnt before she could extricate herself, and her 
people left her. She had since lived on gum 
alone, of which there were vast quantities about. 
It oozes down from the trees, and forms large 
cakes in the sand. There was water close by, 
for she was on the edge of a river bed. I did not 
know what to do with her ; I had no means of 
conveying her anywhere, or any place to convey 
her to. 

The Damaras invariably kill useless and worn^ 
out people. Even some smother their sick fathers; 
and death was evidently not far from her. I had 
three sheep with me ; so I off-packed, and killed 
one. She seemed ravenous ; and though I pur- 
posely had off-packed some two hundred yards 
from her, yet the poor wretch kept crawling and 
dragging herself up to me, and would not be 

withheld, for fear I should forget to give her the 
food I promised. When it was ready, and she 
had devoured what I gave her, the meat acted 
as it often does in such cases, and fairly intoxi- 
cated her. She attempted to stand, regardless of 
the pain; and sang, and tossed her lean arms 
about. It was perfectly sickening to witness the 
spectacle. I did the only thing I could ; I cut 
the rest of the meat in strips, and hung it within 
her reach, and where the sun would jerk (i. e. dry 
and preserve) it. It was many days' provisions for 
her. I saw she had water, firewood, and gum in 
abundance ; and then I left her to her fate. 

It appears that dancing is a very favorite 
pastime here ; and our second extract affords 
a graphic description of — 


Every night Nangoro gives a ball, to which 
the elite of Ovampo-land have a free entree. He 
kindly sent me an invitation by Tippoo — that one 
of his three courtiers, under whose protection we 
had been especially placed. As soon as night 
sets in, the guests throng together from all sides ; 
and as the country is full of palms, one member 
of each party generally picks up a dried broken- 
off branch, and lights it as a torch. It gives a 
brilliant flame, and the effect of the many lights 
on every side is particularly pretty. 

I went, about eight o'clock, down the sanded 
walk, between quickset hedgerows, that leads to 
Nangoro's palisading. When we had entered it, 
we turned to the right into the dancing court, 
which was already filled with people who talked 
and flirted just as though they were in an 
English ball-room. There was one man with a 
feeble guitar or banjo in one corner, and a 
powerful performer on the tom-tom in front of 
him. The first dance was remarkable as a display 
of dexterity, though I hardly think of elegance ; 
it was undertaken by twelve or fourteen gentle- 
men — all the others looking on. The dancers 
were ranked in double files, and dos-a-dos; they 
then " passeed" from side to side with a tripping 
operatic step, but a wary and cautious eye. Every 
now and then one of the performers spun sud- 
denly round, and gave a most terrific kick at the 
stern of the gentleman whom he then found in 
front of him. 

This was the dance ; there was a great deal of 
dexterity shown both in delivering and avoiding 
the kick, which, when successfully planted, hit 
with the force of a donkey's hoof. I observed 
that the three courtiers danced very well and 
very successfully ; indeed, I would not have found 
myself dos-a-dos with Tippoo for any considera- 
tion. The ladies applauded the dance most 
vociferously. After this came a promenade ; we 
were all jammed together into a compact mass, 
and then stepped round and round the court to 
the sound of the tom-tom, tapping the ground 
with our feet in regular time. 

Dance number three was for the Bushmen — a 
large kraal of whom lay close by Nangoro's pali- 
sading ; they are his body-guard. This dance 
was entirely mimicry, either of animal steps, or 
any thing else they liked ; and then a grand pro- 
menade closed the evening. I saw only thirty 
or forty of Nangoro's wives there. I suppose 



that the others, heing old, did not dance. They 
wear a copper armlet as a sign of distinction. 

We should very well like to be present 
at a scene of this kind. It must contrast most 
powerfully with an English ball, and be 
infinitely more animated. That kick, too, 
must be seen — perhaps felt, to be properly 
appreciated. We would, however, much 
prefer being the endorsor. The endorsee, we 
imagine, would be apt to consider the kick 
to be a breach of good manners — especially 
when administered with the " full force of a 
donkey's hoof." 

Tropical Southern Africa must be just 
" the " place in which to teach a man 
activity ! 



There is a calmness in the evening hour, 
A soothing joy that words can ne'er describe ; 

A social intercourse from flower to flower — 
And from their happiness our souls imbibe 

Reliance on the hand that made them fair, 

Blessing the meanest creature with his care. 

This is the season for reflection. Far 

From anxious care and strife, from pomp and 
We find rich treasure in each twinkling star, 
And breathe a fragrance from the mountain 
In every simple flower that deeks the sod, 
We trace the hand, — the mighty hand of God ! 

And now the birds commence their vesper lays, 
Low, plaintive music falls upon the ear ; 

A soft sweet cadence breathing prayer and praise, 
As if they felt a hand to save was near. 

And who protects them ? who their wants sup- 
plies ? 

And lends an ear to listen to their cries ? 

They build no barns to hoard their treasures in ; 

Nor coffers fill with gold, a secret store. 
And though they toil not, neither do they spin, 

Yet have they all they need, nor wish for more. 
The same kind hand protects both birds and 

And oh, how far their faith exceedeth ours ! 

Oh, let us love the flowers that God has made, 
And cherish with affection each dear bird ; 

And when our footsteps wander through the 
And their sweet evening hymn is softly heard, 

Forget our sorrows in their plaintive lays, 

And join their little song of grateful praise. 

Oh, Nature, how I love thee ! At this hour, 
Drest in thy fairy mantle, thou dost prove 

A balm for sorrow ; and I bless the power 

That made thee fair, and taught my heart to 

Cheer'd by thy smiles, secure from man's device, 

The earth still holds a part of Paradise. 


Let's be a child ! by Nature's kindly law 
Pleas'd with a rattle — tickled with a straw. 

In this very uncertain, fickle cli- 
mate of OURS, wherein seven-eighths of the 
year may be called "winter," it becomes us 
all to u make hay while the sun shines;" 
and if the sun does not shine in August, when 
will it shine ? But the sun does shine, and 
the ground is dry — very dry, the woods are 
shady, and the foliage of the trees forms a 
most umbrageous covering to prevent lily- 
white necks from being " done brown." 
What is our mission then, this month? 
Pleasure ! harmless, innocent pleasure : 

The youth who bathes in Pleasure's limpid 

At well-judged intervals, feels all his soul 
Nerv'd with recruited strength. 

This applies to youth of either sex, and 
is good for "old boys" and young boys — ■ 
" old girls" and young girls. All mankind 
have hearts to be happy ; and happy they 
must be. No exclusiveness must be per- 
mitted in August, Human nature is " out 
for a holiday ; " and the conventional mask 
peculiar to cities must be hung up till next 
winter. That point is settled. 

"Well, Mr. Editor, but what about 
Pic-Nics ? What are they ? What do they 
consist of? What is their object? How 
are they to be got up ? Who is to be of 
the party " 

Gently — gently — if you please, good peo- 
ple. We are just coming to the point. 

A pic-nic party should consist of a mis- 
cellaneous assemblage ; some, young ; some, 
middle-aged; and some, old folk. It must 
not be planned very long before it " comes 
off ; " but be a kind of improvision — got up 
on the instant. All these little matters 
should be done off-hand. Select the names 
of the intended dramatis personal, send 
" letters of advice," and prepare at once for 
the grand carnival al fresco. A joyous 
maiden of seventeen should undertake this 

There is a difference of opinion as to who 
should, and who should not form elemental 
particles in a pic-nic. The Americans tell 
us, that a smart humorist and a good butt 
are two indispensable ingredients ; for that 
a pic-nic party, without these, would be like 
a pantomime without Clown and Pantaloon. 
We strongly object to this. It is wrong 
in principle. The same authorities say : 
" By all means avoid asking engaged pairs. 
Selfish as an alderman, they will sneak off 
slyly into some secluded spots to bill and coo, 
and contribute nothing to the common 



stock of fun." This we know to be a fact. 
They are solid bores. As much fun as you 
please with the others, but let the niopers, 
we say, stay at home. We hate to see 
these people sickening up, and slinking off, 
(as they always do,) into corners, when they 
ought to be "jolly." Smiles and tears al- 
ternate in this world of ours. So let them 
be merry while they may. Smile now, and 
cry by-and-by. There will be lots of op- 
portunities. A-hem ! 

A pic-nic party may consist of one 
dozen ; two, three, four, or five dozen 
people — the more the merrier; and the ex- 
penses, when divided, will be proportionally 
less. Let there bean endless number of jet- 
black lustrous orbs ; finely-arched foreheads 
by the score ; dark eyebrows (" lash"-ing us 
well) ; swan-like necks ; Madonna frontis- 
pieces ; and joyous, merry voices ; romps not 
a few, hoydens unlimited, and as many 
nimble feet and cherry cheeks as memory 
can call together. To meet these, invite all 
the agreeable, gentlemanly swains that 
yourselves, your friends, and your acquain- 
tance can muster up — young and middle- 
aged. Let there be no "drawbacks" or 
" stumbling stones" invited, nor any persons 
of known jealous dispositions. Out with 
these, one and all, as leprous plague-spots — 
dangerous to themselves, and spreading in- 
fection dire on all around them. What ! jea- 
lousy or suspicion at a pic-nic party ! Fie ! 
Fie ! ! Out with the offender sans ceremonie. 
Hanging were far too lenient a punishment 
for such an unpardonable offence. 

If the uninitiated should ask — what are 
they to do on such occasions ? — we answer, 
do as honest old Nature prompts; seek friends 
among the party, unbend your mind, and 
give a loose to harmless, innocent mirth. 
Many " pretty little things" will be sung 
and said. Some you will sing, some you will 
say. In turn, some "pretty little things" 
will be said to you. You will laugh, of 
course; why should you not? You cannot 
help it ! No rules can be laid down for 
what to say, or how to say it. The art of 
success lies — 

In that continuous sweetness, which with ease 
Pleases all round it, from the wish to please. 

On occasions such as these we are cele- 
brating, Nature is her own instructor. Her 
children very rarely offend ; and if a " black 
sheep " should creep in, " his mark," rely 
upon it, would be indelible, — burnt in ! We 
are, of course, writing about people who are 
A 1. in matters of propriety, respectability, 
gentleness, and goodness. 

Well ; let us now take it for granted that 
the party is organised, and that the happy 
place of rendezvous is appointed. This may 
be either Epping Forest, Penge Wood, Nor- 

wood, Petersham, Bushy Park, or other such 
favored localities.* Of course all will not 
depart together. There will be an influx from 
all parts of the country ; pouring in, and meet- 
ing at one spot, — some in cabs, some in " dog- 
carts," some by boat, some by omnibus, 
some on horseback. All and each will be 
there — some by hook, and others by crook. 
We will not dwell on the hearty welcome, 
and merry salutations that fall on the ear of 
each happy " arrival." He or she will be 
" at home " in an instant. This sort of 
free-masonry is peculiar to pic-nic parties. 

Let us now introduce some half-dozen 
asterisks * * * * * * These, 
be it known, are to signify the arrival of a 
large van, which has contained a most remark- 
able selection of good things, — all packed in 
hampers, boxes, tureens, and an endless 
variety of baskets. We plead guilty to 
having peeped into the recesses of these 
paraphernalia, and also to having " assisted " 
in the unpacking. W"e should indeed be 
frightened to attempt a catalogue raisonnee 
of their contents. We may hint, however 
(distantly), at hams, fowls, capons, pullets, 
chickens, lamb, boiled beef, roast beef, 
tongues, sauces, pickles, cucumbers, lettuces, 
mysterious-looking pates, — beneath whose 
savory crust lay hid some indescribable deli- 
cacies ; pigeons, &c. &c. &c. As for the 
larger hampers, well stored with fruits of all 
kinds, ices, jellies, and curious wines, — we 
must " say " little about these. The remem- 

* Connected with Pic-nics, we may here mention 
a little anecdote. Some four years since, we were in 
Paris, — domiciled, pro tern., at an extensive hotel, 
near the Madeleine. During our sojourn there, we 
saw many new faces at the table d 1 hbte daily. 
Among them, one happy clay, two new faces pre- 
sented themselves. YVith these (they were on the 
opposite side of the table), we fell in love at once. 
One of these faces belonged to a lovely maiden, 
with auburn ringlets ; the other was owned by her 
equally fascinating mamma. They were both 
English. We hardly need say how soon we were 
all ' ' at home . ' ' The ringing, happy, j oy ous laugh 
of "mamma's own child," soon reduced the dis- 
tance between us. We all returned to England 
together ; and, though before perfect strangers, we 
were soon registered as " one of the family." This 
was in August. Our remarkable acquaintance pro- 
gressed. A grand pic-nic party was projected — some 
sixty at least were mustered — choice spirits ! and in 
Epping Forest was laid the great scene of action. 
This may have assisted us in our remarks to-day. 
Let us, however, be precise upon all points. The 
heart of that young lady with auburn ringlets is not 
ours now. It has passed into other hands. We 
merely watched over it for the time being, A 
faithful watchman were we ! We still, however, 
lay friendly claim to listen to the joyous, ringing 
laugh, that once made us so happy ; and when we 
hear it "at home," in the family hall, we rejoice. 
May that heart never know sorrow, — and may the 
owner of it be as happy as he deserves to be ! 



brance of that Champagne, that Hock, that 
Claret, and that Madeira, poured out, and 

shared with , but no, we won't ; we really 

won't ! It is too much for us. We shall be 
" at it again " so soon, that we will let our 
brain rest for the present, and drown the 
past in happy anticipation of the coming 
future. Pic-nics are now fairly " on." 

We have said nothing about the cheerful 
gossip on the road down. How some were 
laughed at for being up too early, and others 
toolate. " How nice mamma looks ! " and 
" How Emily Lamb colored up, when William 
Cavendish compared her to a drooping lily, 
and asked permission to raise her lovely 
head ! " &c. &c. This small-talk is sacred 
to the day, and ought not to be repeated. 
Happy faces, light hearts, good temper, 
cheerfulness, and innocence, — these are the 
characteristics of the Pic-nic we describe. 
We are " immense " on such occasions ; and 
we place our royal person at the immediate 
disposal of all who advocate our principles in 
these matters. We are "good" for fourteen 
hours at the least, and shall even then 
return home gleeful, — "jolly." 

It would be trenching on good manners,were 
we to attempt to proceed any further. We 
have hinted at everything that is needful. 
We have introduced the parties to each other. 
We have conducted them to their rendezvous. 
We have unpacked the treasures of the festive 
board. It is now for each one to endeavor 
to make the day pass pleasantly. It requires 
no effort. If the day be fine, happiness must 
be the issue. The day will close as it began — 
w T ith a multitude of smiling faces speaking, 
as plainly as smiles can speak, the feelings of 
the heart. 

We told our brother Cits, last month, that 
■we would try and draw them out by the power 
of our pen. Let us hope that this little sketch 
may have the desired effect. 

Who, we ask, would be broiled on flag- 
stones, that can so readily and so reasonably 
be attracted into the Forest, — and in such 
company too ! 


Listen, listen, sounds are stealing 

Tiptoe on the balmy air ; 
Eve, her rainbow robe revealing, 
Blushes through the twilight lair — 
Whilst dreamy voices,touch'd with Pleasure's pain, 
Hum their sweet incense through the yearning 

Listen, listen, streams are singing 

Down amid the amber glade ; 
Fairies perfumed bells are ringing, 

The night-bird trills from out the shade : 
Shall not our silent souls awake to move 
In unison, when all around is Love ? 

T. J. 0. 


Have our readers yet seen these 
very curious wonders of the living world ? 
If not, they should do so, for they are really 
marvels in their way. 

There are two of these children, a girl 
and a boy. In the boy, the lower part of 
the face much projects. The lips are dis- 
proportionately thick, and the nose a good 
Jewish aquiline. His eyes are dark and 
humid, affectionate in expression, and having 
a lively animal intelligence in every glance. 
His complexion is a rich dark olive, and his 
hair black, — falling in long curls. His 
height is about three feet ; his form slight 
and supple ; his arms and hands are feeble 
and helpless-looking. 

The girl has nearly the same characteris- 
tics, but she is slighter and smaller. On 
the whole, their appearance and actions are 
interesting. They run about the room with 
liveliness, and examine every new object 
with a passing curiosity. They cannot speak 
any language of their own, and only repeat 
a few words ; but they easily understand 
routine questions. They are " said to be " 
some of the descendants of the Aztecks — the 
race driven from Mexico by Cortes. Among 
that race there was a peculiar hereditary 
priesthood, and in course of time the exclu- 
sive intermarriage of the sacerdotal families 
caused the degeneracy of the race. But 
the popular veneration exalted the race from 
priests to idols ; and in the present country of 
the Aztecks, these little beings are set cross- 
legged on altars, and worshipped. A rather 
marvellous story is told of the capture of these 
children : — 

In 1848, Mr. Huertis, of Baltimore, and Mr. 
Hammond, of Canada, attempted to explore 
Central America. They had read Stevens's 
account, in his Central America, of a conversa- 
tion between himself and a priest residing at 
Santa Cruz del Quiche, relative to an unexplored 
city on the other side of the Great Sierra range, 
the glittering domes and minarets of which the 
priest averred having seen from the summit of 
the Sierra. The people, manners, and customs of 
this city, were supposed to be precisely the same 
as in the days of Montezuma. Messrs. Huertis 
and Hammond arrived at Belize in the autumn 
of 1848, and, turning south-west, arrived at Coban 
on Christmas-day. They were there joined by 
Pedro Velasquez of San Salvador, a Spaniard. 
From Coban they proceeded in search of the 
mysterious city. From Velasquez alone is any 
account of their travels to be obtained. Huertis 
and Hammond have never returned to tell their 

According to the statement of Velasquez, on 
the 19th of May they reached the summit of the 
Sierra, at an altitude of 9500 feet, in lat. 15° 
48' N., and beheld in the distance the domes 



and minarets of a laige city, apparently of an 
Egyptian character, and about 25 leagues from 
Ocosingo, in the same latitude, and in the direct 
course of the River Lugartos. This city they 
eventually reached. Velasquez describes it to 
be of vast proportions, with heavy walls and 
battlements, full of temples, gigantic statues, 
and pagan paraphernalia ; the people having 
Peruvian manners combined with Assyrian mag- 
nificence, and bound to remain within the walls, 
seeking no intercourse with the world around. 
The name of the city is Iximaya. The travellers 
were informed that white men had previously en- 
tered it, but that no white man had ever returned. 
Hammond and Huertis were both slain — the 
former in entering the city, the latter in endeavor- 
ing to make his escape. Velasquez, being more 
wary, lulled his captors into security, and not 
only escaped himself, but brought with him two 
children belonging to the priests — these very two. 

This tale may, or may not be true. We 
question its accuracy. However, there is 
sufficient to gratify curiosity. There could 
be no deception whatever practised as to 
the little people exhibited. They are very 
animated in their looks, gestures, and move- 
ments, and both appear to be intelligent. They 
show an aptitude, too, for acquiring know- 
ledge ; possessing evidently the faculty of 
imitation in a considerable degree. They 
seem to be in good health, and pleased with 
the interest that is expressed for them. 

They have been seen by Prof. Owen, Sir 
Benjamin Bordie, Bart., Lord Rosse, Lord 
Brougham, and many other scientific men. 
These all pronounce the little fellows to be 
" curious specimens ; " and so they are. They 
are money-getting folk, too. They get their 
living by being " looked at ! " This is a 
funny world truly ! 



Dr. Moore, the eloquent author of" The Use of 
the Body in relation to the Mind," says, — a tad- 
pole confined in darkness would never become a 
frog, and an infant being deprived of Heaven's 
free light, will only grow into a shapeless idiot, 
instead of a beauteous and reasonable thing. 
Hence, in the deep dark gorges and ravines of 
the Swiss Valais, where the direct sunshine 
never reaches, the hideous prevalence of idiocy 
startles the traveller. It is a strange, melancholy 
idiocy. Many citizens are incapable of any arti- 
culate speech ; some are deaf, some are blind, 
some labor under all the privations, and all are 
mis-shapen in almost every part of the body. I 
believe there is in all places, a marked difference 
in the healthiness of houses according to their 
aspect with regard to the sun ; and that those are 
decidedly the healthiest cceteris paribus, in which 
all the rooms are, during some part of the day, fully 
exposed to direct light. It is a well known fact 
that epidemics attack the inhabitants on the 
shady side of the street, and exempt those on the 
opposite side ; and even in endemics, such as 
ague, the morbid influence is often thus partial in 
its action. 

It cannot be denied, yet must it ever be lamented, 
that the national character of the English is pride, 
and the meanest of all pride — purse-pride. Even 
a poor Lord is despised ; and, to increase his for- 
tune, a necessitous peer will condescend to marry 
into a rich citizen's family. An overweening 
affection for money — an idolatrous worship of gain, 
have absolutely confounded the general intellect, 
and warped the judgment of many to such an ex- 
cess, that, in estimating men or things, they always 
refer to,—" What is he worth? " or " What will 
it fetch ? " Were we to point out a person, as he 
passes, and say, " There goes a good man ; one 
who has not a vice " — he would scarcely be noticed ; 
but exclaim, " That man is worth £500,000," and 
he will be stared at till out of sight ! 

Is it not strange that, knowing these things, we 
do not attempt to alter them? We talk about 
man being a "free agent," and we insist upon the 
fact. If so, the greater must be the crime of which 
we are guilty in offending so signally in a matter 
of such grave import. 

Virtue is undeniably a secondary consideration 
with us ; but money carries all before it. When 
the truth is laid bare, how strange is the picture 
presented to the view ! 


Bad temper is more frequently the result of un- 
happy circumstances than of an unhappy organisa- 
tion. It frequently, however, has a physical cause, 
and a peevish child often needs dieting more than 
correcting. Some children are more prone to 
show temper than others, and sometimes on ac- 
count of qualities which are valuable in them- 
selves. For instance, a child of active tempera- 
ment, sensitive feeling, and eager purpose, is 
more likely to meet with constant jars and rubs 
than a dull passive child ; and if he is of an open 
nature, his inward irritation is immediately shown 
in bursts of passion. If you repress these ebul- 
litions by scolding and punishment, you only in- 
crease the evil, by changing passion into sulki- 
ness. A cheerful, good-tempered tone of your own, 
a sympathy with his trouble — whenever the trouble 
has arisen from no ill-conduct on his part, are the 
best antidotes ; but it would be better still to 
prevent before-hand all sources of annoyance. 

Never fear spoiling children by making them 
too happy. Happiness is the atmosphere in 
which all good affections grow — the wholesome 
warmth necessary to make the heart-blood circu- 
late healthily and freely. Unhappiness is the 
chilling pressure which produces here an inflam- 
mation, there an excrescence ; and, worst of all, 
the mind's green and yellow sickness — ill-temper. 


Cheerfulness is like a sudden sunshine, that 
awakens a secret delight in the mind without 
her attending to it. The heart rejoices of its 
own accord, and naturally flows out into friend- 
ship and benevolence towards the person who has 
so kindly an effect upon it. 




Flowers, the sole luxury that Nature knew, 
In Eden's pure and spotless garden grew. 

Mrs. Barbavld. 


said" by Mary Howitt, in her 
" Birds and Flowers" — 'things might 
have been so constituted, that the 
wants of man should have been 
supplied without the existence of a 
single flower.' Their creation, there- 
fore, seems especially adapted and intended 
to promote the happiness of man. 

The love of flowers is one of the earliest- 
developed traits in the human character. 
Every child loves flowers. There seems a 
natural instinctive sympathy in the heart of 
childhood with the beauties of nature. We 
have all seen children in the country rush 
forth with bounding delight into the green 
meadows in April, on their weekly half- 
holiday, to gather violets and primroses — 
their hearts as free from care as the birds 
that sing above their heads, and as happy as 
human creatures on earth may be. 

And we have seen the pent-up children 
of our metropolis, eagerly engaged in the 
almosr hopeless quest of a stray flower 
blooming in the grass of the public park, 
and rejoicing over the discovery of one so- 
litary golden buttercup, with more real joy 
than the emigrant feels when he finds a 
" nugget" of gold at the diggings. 

But what have childhood, and its poetry, 
and its innocent, pursuits, to do with the cold 
prose of a garden newspaper ? Much, very 
much, as we think. Tn the tastes of child- 
hood we hear the voice of nature. The 
child's love of flowers is the exponent of a 
beautiful fact. It tells us that the love of 
flowers is inherent in human nature ; for what 
is childish is natural, and the love of flowers 
is only like every other grace of humanity, 
in being most strongly developed in early 
years, before contact with this rough and 
cold world has blunted the sensibilities and 
chilled the affections. 

The taste for floral beauty is an essential 
element of humanity. When that humanity 
was in its pristine condition, that taste was 
strong, and yet amply gratified; and it is 
only as vice or misery hardens the heart that, 
like other virtuous principles, it falls to de- 
cay. As Charles Dickens eloquently said 
last year, at the meeting of the Gardeners' 
Benevolent Institution, " Men who have 
agreed in nothing else have agreed to delight 
in gardening. When we travel by our 
railways, we see the weaver striving for a 
scrap of garden — the poor man wrestling 
with smoke for a little bower of scarlet - 
runners — and they who have no spot of 
ground of their own will have their gardens 

in jugs and basins. We find flowers in the 
factory and workshop, and even with the 
prisoner in his cell." 

The chemist has shown us that plants are 
essential to our physical existence, to purify 
the air and make it respirable ; and they are 
no less indispensable to our moral life. The 
moral influence of flowers is as important, 
to say the least, as their material. And 
here comes the point of our connection with 
the subject. If the love of flowers is such 
an important and universal principle, and 
capable of being made great use of in the 
elevation of our race, it is no small part of 
our duty to direct attention to it, and to 
endeavor so to apply it that it may accom- 
plish its end. For we are not of those who 
look on gardening as a mere system of means 
and appliances to grow long cucumbers, or 
pineapples, of so many pounds weight ; or 
to train plants so as to win medals at exhibi- 
tions. We regard it rather as one of the 
many levers which are to help in raising 
mankind to a condition of comparative 
felicity. And we want to beg the earnest 
attention of our readers for one moment, to 
a few thoughts on its application to this 

Limiting ourselves to our own country, 
and the present day — let us ask, is that use 
made of the universal passion for flowers 
which, as an element in the moral and social 
regeneration of our people, it demands and 
will repay? We are not going to make 
gardening the panacea for the nation's ills, 
any more than we can concede that honor to 
temperance, education, or political reform ; 
but we hold it quite unnecessary to prove, 
that if the child's love of nature's beauties 
were developed in the man — that if they who 
now spend their leisure time in the alehouse, 
or somewhere still worse, had the opportu- 
nity and inclination to spend that time in 
cultivating their gardens, themselves and the 
community would be very great gainers by 
the change. 

A great deal has been done this way in 
some of the rural districts, of recent years. 
Clergymen and gentlemen have exerted 
themselves to induce their poorer neighbors 
to pay more attention to their gardens, by 
offering prizes for the best specimens of cul- 
ture they could exhibit. All honor to such 
efforts! Marred in their success, as they 
have sometimes been, by what we shall call 
the patronising and pauperising spirit of 
their promoters, a thing as injurious to real 
benevolence as can be imagined ; hindered 
as they have often been by other causes, 
they have done great good, and will do 
much more. But they must be more widely 
extended. Why have we not a cottagers' 
flower-show in every agricultural village? 
There ought to be one, and there might be 

Vol. IV.— 3. 



one.* Let those whom it concerns, each 
in his own locality, say there shall be one. 
Nothing is wanted but interest and well- 
directed effort. The poor man would hail 
the establishment of such meetings with de- 
light. They would be a relief to his toil, a 
break in the dull monotony of his life ; be- 
sides bringing a few shillings into his pocket. 
This, not on the doubtful condition of having 
to humble himself and accept them as 
charity, but in connection with honorable 
superiority in the sight of his neighbors. 
But then, it is said, many cottagers have no 
gardens. This is really too bad, for we fear 
it must be admitted. They ought to have 
them. Land is not a thousand pounds per 
acre in the country. A good deal has been 
done, and a great deal more said, about im- 
proving the dwellings of the working classes. 
We are very anxious they should have good 
houses, but shall not be satisfied if they do 
not get also good gardens. If they want 
habitable houses for the sake of their bodily 
health, quite as much do they want gardens 
for their intellectual and moral health. Let 
our friends who take an interest in improv- 
ing the habitations of the poor, keep this 
point in view. They will find their account 
in doing so. 

There is another class of poor — the opera- 
tives of our large towns. We may see that 
these are not behind their brethren of the 
rural districts in appreciation of floral 
beauty. For instances in point, you have 
only to look up to the window over your 
head, and there see a geranium, or fuchsia, or 
verbena, tended with all the care that can 
be given to it ; though its life, withal, seems 
to be a continued struggle with adverse con- 
ditions. Or, see within the glass, a pot 
suspended to the ceiling, containing a plant 
of the " mother-of-thousands" (as it is 
termed), throwing its graceful festoons down 
the window, and forming a pleasant natural 
blind from the rays of the sun. 

The artisan and mechanic, and their pale- 
faced children, love flowers ; but how are 
they to enjoy them? They cannot, like the 
cottager in the open country, have gardens 
of their own. It is impossible. The only 
remedy we can see, is the establishment of 
public gardens. London is taking the lead 
in this matter. We have already our parks, 
and something in the shape of gardens at 
Kensington and St. James's ; and soon we 
shall have our splendid park for the people, 

* We need not say how heartily we concur in 
the view taken by this amiable writer, who, in 
the pages of the Gardeners' Journal, is so indefa- 
tigable in insisting upon the supply of this great 
want. Flowers and gardens possess a degree of 
interest, which irresistibly win upon the better 
feelings of a man or woman ; and we may observe 
their humanising effects daily. — Ed. K. J. 

with its beautiful gardens, at Sydenham, 
thrown open to the toil-worn operative of 
the city. Every town, every aggregation of 
dwellings where land is too dear for every 
man to have a garden of his own, whether 
called a town or a village, ought to have its 
botanic garden — not merely a place for stu- 
dents to learn Latin names, and the fashion- 
ables of the neighborhood to loiter away an 
hour or two before dinner in talking of 
everything but what is before them and 
around them ; but a place of public recrea- 
tion, sustained by the people for the use of 
the people, and open to everybody, young 
and old. 

The English people only want to have 
such opportunities given them, to show that 
they can be trusted in such places — without 
notice-boards disfiguring every tree, and 
meeting the eye at every turn, or policemen 
everlastingly dogging their footsteps. As 
it is, the officials of our public gardens know 
very well that it is not the vulgar who are 
most given to these propensities; though 
they generally come in for the blame. 



'Tis a fair sight, that vest of gold ; 

Those wreaths that August's hrows unfold. 

O ! 'tis a goodly sight, and fail*, 

To see the fields their produce bear, — 

Waved by the breezes' lingering wing, 

So thick,*they seem to laugh and sing. 

The heart rejoices with delight 

To view that wondrous, beauteous sight ; 

And see the reapers' skilful hand 

Culling the riches of the land. 

Never have we had greater proof 
than during the present year, of the fickle 
changes of the seasons. The " oldest inhabi- 
tant " confesses himself puzzled to " recol- 
lect anything like it." We have already 
noted the extraordinary character of April, 
May, and June ; and July has hardly been 
less remarkable. 

We were speaking in our last, of the hay 
and the haymakers ; and dwelling on the 
merry voices that were then rending the air in 
the fields round London. Scarcely was our 
ink dry, ere rain fell in ceaseless torrents ; 
and in many places quite put a stop to the 
operations of the farmer and his men. July, 
in fact, dawned most inausp'iciously. The 
first half of the month was more remarkable 
for clouds than for sunshine — for storms and 
thunder, than for sun and brightness; and 
the second half has hardly made amends for 

The last grand Floral fete, too, at Chis- 
wick, was, as usual, productive of wet. The 
morning of the 9th ulto. was ushered in by 
torrents of rain that quite deluged the 
Gardens, and in every sense of the word cast 



a damper upon the show of flowers, &c. 
Wo sorrowed, too, to see so much injury 

done to the drosses of the assembled lady- 
visitors. Costly indeed was their array on 
entering ; but we fear it was of little com- 
parative value on their departure.* 

We saw many lovely ankles that were 
wont to repose on velvet, here completely 
immersed in mud and filth — the impending 
drapery presenting a truly pitiable sight; 
whilst shoes and stockings assumed the very 
opposites of black and white. These effects 
were trying to the temper, and added much 
to the length of some hundreds of otherwise 
pretty faces. We could not help fancying 
them arrived "at home;" and if the thought 
caused us to remember the funny song of 
" Sich a gittin' up-stairs ! " (which would 
struggle to escape from our lips, in spite of 
our teeth) perhaps w T e shall be forgiven under 
the circumstances. We thanked our stars 
we should not be 

" There to see !" 

* If it is worthy of record ( for reference here- 
after ) that, on Wednesday, July 13, it commenced 
raining violently, and that for twenty-four hours 
(almost continuously) the rain never ceased. 
The quantity of water thus poured upon the land 
was enormous. The damage done thereby was, 
we imagine, incalculable. Whole acres of grass 
were literally washed away ; the fields resembled 
ponds ; some gave an idea of the expansive 
ocean. As for strawberries, raspberries, and 
other summer fruit, the flavor seems to have al- 
together left them. Still did our English ladies 
shew their indomitable spirit, where li Fashion" 
was in question. There was to be a grand field- 
day at Chobham on the 14th of July. According- 
ly, the desire " to be seen" far outweighed the 
drawback to enjoyment by going there through 
cataracts of water. Carriages out of number, 
well filled with extravagantly-dressed women, 
passed our window at an early hour. Some of 
the carriages were " open ;" others, partially 
closed. Of course, the rain drifted in at every 
corner. No matter ! The cry, for several hours, 
was, " still they come !" 

Stage coaches, omnibuses, chaises, and barouches, 
all crowded on — heavily laden with the devotees 
of Fashion ! Women were by far the most nu- 
merous ; and many of these (poor souls !) were 
when we saw them (only four miles from London) 
half-drenched with rain. As for the gentlemen, 
they resembled half-drowned rats. Their cigars 
would not burn ; their summer dress would not 
shield them. Their faces were " long," indeed ! 
As we withdrew from the window, we found 
ourself incontinently humming — 

" There's no place like home !" 

Hugging this sentiment, we discussed a more 
than usually interesting breakfast — marvelling 
the while whether the world was mad or not. To 
risk one's life, to witness the game of " playing 
at soldiers" on a soaking wet day, looks " odd" — 

We are bad hands at stemming a storm, and 
invariably retreat when we observe the 
mercury rising. " Poor Maria " is the vic- 
tim, lint then she is " used" to it. Ladies'- 
maids must not be " particular to a shade," 
— or a substance. 

But if July dawned inauspiciously,it never- 
theless brought in its train its usual lovely 
attendants. When in Hampshire — the month 
previous, we had seen certain roses in bud ; 
and admired their undeveloped but gradually - 
expanding beauties whilst reposing in their 
native beds. Our eye dwelt fondly upon 
them, and we believe our thoughts found 
utterance. Be that as it may, the very kind 
lady whose guest we were, had determined 
that we should see those roses again — and 
how improved in fragrance ! Such a gather- 
ing of those lovely, blushing heads, are now 
gracing our room ! and oh, the richness of 
their aromatic breath ! W^hat a picture of 
beauty are we gazing upon — each pretty face 
more winning if possible than its near 
neighbor ; yet all so charming ! Let us 
again say, Oh, Nature — how we love thee ! 

We must not dwell upon the many delights 
of the past month. No pen can do justice 
to — not even give an idea of what has been 
visible in the gardens, the fields, and the 
hedge -rows. We have revelled in wild 
flowers. We have listened in ecstacy to the 
flute -like strains of our much-loved little 
friend, the Black-cap, who seems determined 
to sing to the very last. W 7 e have also heard 
the serenely happy Black-bird, pouring out 
an occasional note of melody from a lofty 
tree. Nor have the thrush, robin, little wren, 
and others, been wanting to complete the 
harmony of a rural ramble. 

Buried deeply in w r oodland scenery — far 
away from noise and tumult, who so happy 
as we ? And when we find a companion, re- 
joicing in the same pursuits, worshipping at 
the same altar, loving the same objects, and 
sharing our undivided heart — what would we 
more ? These pleasures cost nothing — there- 
fore are they lightly esteemed. 

But we are now in August. This is a 
month when our pleasures will have a large 
increase ; for we cannot but see how quietly 
Nature is " perfecting" the work of her lovely 
hands. Whilst all animal life is everywhere 
happy, — some creatures basking in the sun, 
others retreating into the shade ; the fields 
are becoming " white unto harvest," and the 
fruits of the earth are fast ripening. Now is 
the time for the mind to expand. Business 
and toil become distressingly irksome. The 
aching head refuses to work. The dull brain 
is unwilling to be over-taxed. The splutter- 
ing pen refuses to be mended. The pale- 
faced ink will not flow. Ideas become con- 
fused. Subjects requiring thought, cannot 
be attempted. If commenced, the whole is 



a failure. In a word, Nature compels us to 
be natural. What a sweetly-persuasive 
eloquence her ladyship has ! We have no 
wish to resist her will. If it were so, we 
have not the power ; so — 

Let us wander on the mountain, 

In the valley, by the rill ; 
Mark the forest pine-trees waving, 

Hear the wild birds sing at will; 
Gaze upon the changing seasons, 

And the gifts to earth they throw, — 
Of the God who made them speaking, 

As they come and as they go. 

Sitting down in sunny places, 

With the fresh wind on our cheek, 
Let the holy voice of nature 

To our inmost spirit speak — 
In the blade, the leaf, the blossom, 

As in thinking man, you'll find 
There are voices, there are beauties, 

For the ear and eye of mind. 

Oh, ye dwellers in the city, 

Who in handicrafts excel — 
Who, with mighty hearts and sinews, 

Work so bravely, work so well — 
Bringing from the world of matter 

Properties and wonders rare, 
Which the hand of God hath planted 

For your searching wisdom there, — 

Is there nothing on the mountain, 

In the valley, and the flower, 
Far beyond their merely serving 

To beguile an idle hour ? 
Is no priceless treasure hidden 

That hath power the heart to bless ? 
Go and ask those spirit-teachers, 

And their voice shall answer " Yes !" 

We have often said, and we say it again, — 
we love to meet lady and gentleman " strol- 
ling dabblers," in our summer rambles ; and 
to converse with them. An interchange of 
thoughts, and a little friendly gossip, do 
so expand the soul ! 

This is the grand month in the year, for 
down from an eminence on the 
expansive, growing crops of corn ; and for 
beholding far and near the general aspect of 
nature. The flitting of clouds, their fantastic 
shapes ; the sighing of light breezes in the 
trees ; the lazy hum of happy insects ; the 
lowing of oxen ; the bleating of sheep; the 
suppressed notes of happy birds — parents 
and children ; the aroma from the growing 
fields of clover — aye, and how many other 
charms ? These, and a peaceful spirit ; a 
heart full of love to God and man, — what 
remains to be desired ? 

Let us add, that Nature herself gives 
way this month to repose. Delighted at the 
work of her hands, she smiles as none other 
can smile. Behold ! everything that she has 
created is good. Well may she " rest " after 
such an effort ! And rightly shall toe act, if 
we follow her example. 


We spoke, last year, about the mysterious- 
looking " little carpet-bags " that were ever 
and anon peeping out at this charming season. 
We observe them now, daily ; and note the 
gleeful features of the holders thereof. We 
can see that their very heart is locked up in 
that little carpet bag. Its contents are not 
intended for a long visit. No ! Some two, 
three, or four days of happiness are in pleas- 
ing prospect. A friend, a lover, a relation, 
or an acquaintance — all in turn claim an in- 
terest in that little bag. An interest ! Oh, 
vjhat an interest in some particular cases ! 
We speak feelingly ; for our heart has been 
more than joyful whilst carrying one of those 
dear little bags. " May their shadow never 
grow less ! " 

We never travel to town without a feeling 
of joy, as we daily note the happy bearers 
of carpetbags — little and large. _ Papa, 
mamma, sons, daughters ; all speak with their 
eyes. They are going out of town. Yes ; 
and the very thought of going out of town 
throws a whole language into each face. 
We gaze at it, it gazes at us. We smile, it 
smiles. The ice is at once broken, and con- 
fidence springs up. We put the question — 
it is answered. " We are going to Ramsgate 
for a month." " We knew it," is our reply ; 
and a hearty shake of each youngster's hand 
— in many cases, Papa's and Mamma's too — 
terminates our brief, but pleasant acquaint- 

But we are wasting time. Let every one 
who has the means, away at once. Summer, 
glorious Summer, calls us forth, — 

Her sunny locks 
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece. 

Her days are lovely, and at her close we 
have — 

An eve intensely beautiful ; an eve 
Calm as the slumber of a lovely girl 
Dreaming of hope. 

Nor shall the month depart, without a glimpse 
of the advancing season — when 

The rich autumnal woods, 
With their innumerable shades and colorings, 
Are like a silent instrument at rest — 
A silent instrument, whereon the wind 
Hath long forgot to play. 

But the printer here imperatively orders us 
to halt ; so once more, good reader, let us 
exhort you to be " up and away ! " We have 
already detained you far too long. 


Allowing the performance of an honorable 
action to be attended with labor, the labor is soon 
over ; but the honor is immortal. Whereas, 
should even pleasure wait on the commission of 
what is dishonorable, the pleasure is soon gone ; 
but the dishonor is eternal. — John Stewart. 





BY F. J. GALL, M.D. 

{Continued from Page 362, Vol. III.) 

We now proceed to the Discussion op 
another very important branch of our subject ; 
and that is, — 

how do primitive dispositions, essentially 
Good, degenerate into Evil Propensities ? 

Bad propensities and moral evil are, it would 
appear, inherent in human nature ; notwithstand- 
ing the efforts which some men think it their 
duty to make, to conceal their true origin. 

Let us, then, as physiologists, examine how 
far the fundamental qualities and faculties of man 
may become evil propensities, and, consequently, 
the source of moral evil. 

The brain, the instrument of the moral qualities 
and intellectual faculties, is essentially the same 
in all well-constituted men ; but the various inte- 
grant parts of the brain, or the different organs, 
are not equally developed in all. The relations 
of these developments are infinitely varied. Hence, 
the infinite variety in the moral and intellectual 
character of men. 

In the same individual, all organs do not receive 
the same degree of development. It follows, 
hence, that no man possesses all qualities and all 
faculties to the same degree. 

The function, or the tendency of the activity 
of nn organ, is graduated according to the degree 
of its development or excitement ; the function 
of an organ, moderately developed, is not similar 
to the defective or excessive development of the 
same organ. The propensity to propagation is, 
certainly, the most necessary institution of the 
Creator ; but, when its organ is too little developed, 
we experience impotence, indifference, or even 
aversion to the other sex. Too much developed, 
on the contrary, it degenerates into a propensity 
to salacity and all its excesses. The love of chil- 
dren is one of the first qualities of a mother ; but 
too small a development of the same organ pro- 
duces indifference, and even hatred to children ; 
and may become one of the causes of infanticide. 
This organ, too much developed, is the source of 
the weaknesses which fathers and mothers allow 
themselves toward their children. There have 
even been instances of females, condemned to celi- 
bacy or to sterility, being tempted to commit the 
crime of child-stealing. The instinct of self- 
defence, a necessary quality, becomes, in its exalted 
action, courage, inclination for combat, temerity ; 
in its depression, on the contrary, timidity, das- 
tardliness, cowardice. No one will say, that it is 
a misfortune for man to be destined to live on 
flesh, as well as on vegetables ; yet, it is an exces- 
sive activity of this same inclination, which pro- 
duces, step by step, insensibility to others' suffer- 
ings, pleasure at causing and witnessing pain, 
the inclination to destroy, kill, burn. The senti- 
ment of property, innate in man, and even in 
animals, will always be one of the principal bonds 
of social order ; but, give too much energy to this 
same sentiment, and the man will be tempted by 

inclination to fraud, usury, corruption, venality, 
theft. The love of honor, the source of so many 
noble actions, if too eager and ill directed, seeks 
flattery, luxury, ostentation. Noble pride degene- 
rates into presumption, insolence, contempt, and 
despotism. It is thus that raillery, mockery, the 
spirit of sedition and independence, insubordina- 
tion, disobedience, obstinacy, credulity, supersti- 
tion, idolatry, have their origin in dispositions 
primitively good, and essential to the human race. 

Qualities and talents, peculiarly distinguished, 
are of the same origin. It is always a very favor- 
able development of an organ, an unaccustomed 
energy of its function, which produces the disposi- 
tion to benevolence, religious sentiments and ideas, 
the talent for poetry ; without such development 
there would be neither great musicians, nor great 
sculptors, nor great orators ; all the arts and all 
the sciences would remain in a state of obscure 

This explanation of the degeneracy and of the 
improvement of man's moral and intellectual forces, 
of the origin of his vicious and virtuous propensi- 
ties, of genius, and of weakness of intellect, is 
most in conformity with his nature. 

It is now time to meet the great question, 
namely — as man cannot, in any manner, arrest the 
development of his organs, nor, consequently, relax 
the energy of their functions and cause himself 
to be urged either more or less imperiously to do 
good or evil, are his actions, also, submitted to the 
same fatality? Does he do good or ill by irresis- 
tible impulses? or does his organisation permit 
him a voluntary determination? Are actions 
evidence of merit or demerit ? 

It is important, that I should put this subject 
in the clearest light ; and as there result from it 
the most important practical consequences, I shall 
treat it with peculiar attention and perfect frank- 
ness. May my readers bring to the examination 
the same love of truth, which will guide me in the 
whole of this great discussion ! 

Free Will. 

Free will has always been the stumbling-block 
of most of the philosophers. A great number have 
succeeded, by force of reasoning, in proving that 
all which happens, happens necessarily ; and as 
all actions are the necessary consequence of pre- 
ceding ones, in the same manner as an effect is 
the necessary consequence of a cause, they have 
concluded from this necessity — from this relation 
between cause and effect — that there can be no 
voluntary act, and have, therefore, denied all 
liberty. Others, on the contrary, have made a 
romance of the nature of man, and, comparing 
him to the Deity, have assigned to him liberty 
without bounds. Others, again, think that they 
see freedom, where there exists in fact nothing 
but its image. A few only have regarded free 
will in its true and correct point of view. 

Whether we allow too much or too little liberty 
to man, we shall always do wrong to morality ; 
and the judgments we form on our own actions, 
and those of others, will even lead to error. It is, 
therefore, important to clear up this obscurity ; 
and to determine to what extent a man in pos- 
session of his faculties, enjoys the power of 
choosing between such and such an action. 



Unlimited Liberty. 

There are not wanting philosophers, who, seeing 
in man the image of the Deity, make him almost 
as free as God himself. They give him unlimited 
liberty ; but unlimited liberty would imply that 
man created his own nature ; that he is himself 
the author of his desires and faculties ; that he 
governs himself independently of all law. As 
man has not unlimited power over his birth, nor 
over the duration of his existence, nor over his 
sex, nor his temperament, nor the influence of 
external things, such a liberty is completely in 
contradiction to his nature. All that can be said 
in favor of this boastful opinion, reduces itself to 
emphatic declamations, void of sense and truth. 

Absolute Liberty. 

Other persons think it proper to admit at least 
an absolute liberty, by virtue of which a man may 
act without motive, internal or external. But, 
as there is no effect without a cause, as one thing 
is always the cause of another, and as nothing 
in nature can happen except in accordance with 
determinate laws, it follows that every phe- 
nomenon, such as that of an absolute liberty which 
might take effect without cause, is absolutely 
impossible. If man could act without motive, 
and solely from caprice, there would be no certainty, 
nor even probability, that, under given circum- 
stances, he would act in such or such a manner. 
Sex, temperament, and organisation more or less 
perfect ; the education received, habits, principles, 
laws, morality, religion, circumstances, natural 
propensities and faculties, fortuitous excitements, 
— nothing, in fact, would enable us to divine, with 
any probability, on what an individual, so con- 
stituted, would determine. For the rest, this 
liberty would be a faculty in contradiction with 
itself, since it would make a man act reasonably 
or unreasonably ; justly, or unjustly ; finally, well 
or ill, but always without motive. Why should 
we expect of a man in such case, friendship and 
fidelity rather than hatred and perfidy ; virtue 
rather than vice ? All institutions which have 
for their object the welfare of individuals and 
society, would be useless. Of what use would be 
education, the culture of the mind and heart, 
morality, contracts, promises, oaths, religion, pun- 
ishments, rewards, when nothing for such a man 
would be a determining motive ? In this hy- 
pothesis, man alone would form an exception to 
the general laws, by virtue of which each phe- 
nomenon has its cause ; and the ideas, the sensa- 
tions, the propensities, thoughts, and actions of 
man, would not be determined by previous causes 
in the manner every event without him would be 
regulated. Such liberty, then, is an absurd chi- 

M. Ancillon, in maintaining the doctrine of ab- 
solute liberty, says — " The dignity of human 
nature is founded entirely on moral liberty : moral 
liberty is the power of obeying the law under all 
circumstances, the power of commencing a series 
of actions in spite of all the causes and all the 
motives, which would seem to involve, necessarily, 
a different series. To present actions in their 
relation with liberty, is to start with the principle 
that the actions of man belong to himself always, 
and that he is always at liberty to omit or to do 

them. When we are satisfied in history with 
simply explaining actions, we degrade man ; he 
becomes a passive instrument, an integrant part 
of nature, and freedom disappears. We cease to 
take into account the power which the man had, 
of doing otherwise than he has done, and it follows 
that this was the only course left for him." 

Thus, according to this author, man, as man, 
is an entirely insulated being, who has nothing in 
common with the rest of nature. On the one 
hand, M. Ancillon, abandoning himself to vain 
reveries on the noble nature of man, thinks, that 
always, and under all circumstances, he has the 
power to withdraw himself from the influence of 
all causes, of all motives, and of entire nature : 
liberty, according to him, is the only force which 
submits to no law, to no cause, and which has 
its support within itself. On the other hand, he 
confesses that nature exercises a great control over 
man, that the laws of nature tend, without ceas- 
ing, to encroach upon those of liberty ; and that 
the power which nature has over man, explains 
his actions. By adopting the true view of a sub- 
ject, one does not fall into such contradictions. 
Kant, therefore, and Feurbach, have reason to say 
that absolute liberty has nothing real, and is only 
speculative. That I may avoid difficulties arising 
from too much obscurity, I shall not enter into the 
discussion of the question — how actions can be 
necessary, and nevertheless voluntary and free. 

In maintaining that man has only to will, in 
order to be capable of every thing, philosophers 
endeavor to establish a principle in conformity 
with good morals. But, can a principle which is 
belied at each step we make in nature, and in the 
study of man, be a principle of good morals? A 
principle, which always tends to make us forget 
the motives, the true sources of our actions, and 
which, by that circumstance, deprives us of the 
means of directing them ; a principle, which 
makes an independent will, or rather a caprice, the 
author of our good and evil actions, and which 
consequently destroys all the equality of our judg- 
ments on the actions of others, all justice in 
criminal legislation, all tolerance, all charity ; such 
a principle is certainly not a principle of good 

Of Illusory Liberty. 

To those who deny free will, is commonly op- 
posed the internal sense of individual freedom. It 
is said that every one has a consciousness, that so 
long as no constraint, physical or moral, forces us 
to act, we act, freely, — that is, that we might 
have acted in a different manner. But, as the 
adversaries of free will prove, that this feeling, 
this internal consciousness, is only an illusion, it 
would be better, for the good cause, to abandon 
this argument. 

In fact, even when acting under the influence of 
desires more or less imperious, without choice, 
without will, man experiences a sense of satisfac- 
tion which connects itself with the accomplishment 
of his desires ; and which is the more lively, in pro- 
portion as these desires were the more urgent. It 
is this satisfaction which misleads the individual, 
and makes him imagine that in this case he acts 
with freedom. Thus, he thinks he acts with 
freedom when he walks erect, although his organi- 
sation obliges him to do so : the man agitated by 



jealousy and the desire of revenge, and he whom 
the fire of love is consuming, regard themselves 
as free, so long as their desire and its accomplish- 
ment cause them to feel satisfaction. When the 
storm is hushed, they change their tone ; and 
acknowledge that they were carried away by 
the impulse of passion. We are often entire stran- 
gers to every idea of sensual appetite ; but hardly 
does an object excite our organs, when immediately 
we experience the desire of possessing what we 
should have disdained an instant before ; and yet 
we believe, that we have determined with free- 
dom. Animals do not enjoy real liberty ; yet they 
act without feeling any restraint. Like men, 
they experience the pleasure which follows the 
accomplishment of their desires. Can we say 
that the sheep and tiger are free, because the one 
browses on the grass, and the other tears his prey 
with a feeling of satisfaction? 

It is because men have confounded this internal 
feeling with true liberty, that they have thought 
to oppose to it the following reflections : — " A 
ball," says Hommel, "placed on a board, allows it- 
self to be moved forward and backward, to the right 
and left. If the board is at rest and horizontal, 
the ball remains motionless. If this ball had con- 
sciousness of its motion and not of the cause, it 
would believe that it moved voluntarily." Leib- 
nitz compares liberty to a magnetic needle, which 
should have pleasure in pointing to the north. 
" In this case," says he, " it would imagine that it 
moved freely and independently of any other cause ; 
for it would not perceive the subtle movements of 
the magnetic fluid." 

In a variety of circumstances, even our judg- 
ments are accompanied with a pleasurable sensa- 
tion, without being, in consequence, the results 
of our reflection. Hence it is that we judge the 
same object differently, according as, from one 
instant to another, what has passed within or 
without us has produced some change in our inter- 
nal feelings. In this sense, M. Lamark is right 
in saying, " that the diversity of our judgments 
is so remarkable, that it often happens, that the 
consideration of the same object gives rise to as 
many particular judgments as there are persons 
who undertake to pronounce on the object ; and 
this variety has been taken for freedom in judgment, 
but erroneously ; for, it is simply the result of the 
different elements, which in different individuals 
enter into the judgment thus formed." 

It is in the same sense that we must interpret 
the following passage of M. Feurbach. "The 
faculty," says he, " of being determined by the 
ideas to realise an object, or, to act, is accompanied 
with the consciousness of an independent activity, 
of absolute/ree will. When of two possible oppo- 
site determinations we decide for one or the other, 
when we reject the one and desire the other, we 
believe, in accordance with what immediate con- 
sciousness teaches us, that the cause of this choice 
resides entirely in us ; that the faculty of desiring 
is the principle of desire, and that, under the same 
conditions, it might as well have determined for 
one thing as for another. Although we thus 
appear, in this case, not as determined, but as 
determining, this feeling does not secure to us our 
freedom ; and we cannot regard it as a proof of our 
independence of natural causes, without exposing 
ourselves to the well-founded objections of the 

determinists, and contradicting the natural law of 
the constant connection of causes and effects. This 
internal feeling may be an illusion. We have 
this feeling of liberty, solely because we do not dis- 
cover the secret threads which connect causes 
with effects, and which draw us toward such or 
such an object." 

It will be seen, then, that these passages are 
directed against those, who would prove free 
choice by this internal consciousness, by this 
illusory feeling of liberty, founded solely on con- 
tentment, on the satisfaction of the desires. 

What, then, in fine, is the kind of liberty which 
we must admit for man, as a being endowed with 
inclinations, sentiments, talents ; in a word, with 
moral qualities and intellectual faculties ? 



(Continued from Page 359, Vol. III.) 

The operations now in daily progress 
with the Camp at Chobham, remind me of the 
" Camps de Thun et Biere" in my own country, 
as well as the reviews and exercises of the " Mili- 
taires." Hot work, such weather as this, Mr. 
Editor ; but I cannot resist the temptation of re- 
counting to you an "adventure which this military 
" souvenir" has brought to my mind, and wherein 
I very innocently played a most conspicuous part. 
Most probably, I should have been most conspi- 
cuously punished too, but for the lucky interference 
of the ever-noble Frere Jean. I sigh when 1 
think that such a man was taken off in the prime 
and vigor of life. However, to my curious morn- 
ing's adventure. 

You probably know, Mr. Editor, that in my 
country every man is a soldier; and that in time 
of war, every man, woman, and dog are soldiers. 
But I am not now going to speak of that funny 
hubbub called the " Sonderbund." No ! that shall 
come later. Hang those Jesuitical pranks ! -say 
I, Mr. Editor. Plus tard, I will give you an 
account of my visit to that Pharisaical city of 
Frybourg. It will amuse you in no small degree 

I must premise that, every spring, certain days 
are fixed for the exercise of the " Elite," the 
" Reserve," and the " Ecole Militaire." All who 
have passe Vage, are only called upon in the case 
of a "Levee en Masse." When I come to talk 
of the " Sonderbund," I shall have occasion to 
revert to this story. It so happened that, at this 
time, my old master had a " Vaudois" servant, by 
name " Francois," and he was in the " Elite." 
Of course, then, he had to appear every Sunday 
morning (Sunday morning, observe, was always 
chosen in my country — I say it with sorrow ; but 
it must be said, as it is true), for the exercises. 
I have heard my old master say, that he be- 
lieved the Sabbath was profaned for the accom- 
modation of the working classes ; but I could 
speak rather lengthily upon that subject, if it 
would not be considered unbecoming in a dog to 
discourse upon such matters. It is true an early 
hour was fixed ; but that says nothing. That 
particular day was invariably chosen for the ex- 

After the "Ecole Militaire," the "Elite," and 



the " Eeserve," had passed the exercises, a grand 
gala day was fixed for the glorious Keview 
— (generally a Thursday) — and a glorious hot 
day it usually was ; and after the grand Keview, 
a certain number of " Militaires" annually formed 
the "Camp de Thun," or the " Camp de Biere." 
At these gatherings, the young " Militaires" 
were initiated in all the tactics of warfare, during 
a period of from fourteen to twenty-one clays. 
Now the position of these " camps" is most gran- 
diose compared to Chobham ; and Montbenon 
(close to Lausanne,) is superlatively magnificent. 
Any one who has visited this spot must. I think, 
be impressed with the surpassing grandeur and 
richness of the scenery. I am not going to tres- 
pass on your pages with any description thereof ; 
but if you, my dear friend, could fancy yourself 
on the plain at Chobham, and then suddenly 
transported to Montbenon, you (who are such an 
admirer of nature) would be perfectly bewildered. 

Here let me remark, that like many other clogs 
and men, I wished to see a little of military evo- 
lutions, and also to become acquainted with them. 
Who knows that a day's military amusement may 
not be beneficial even to a dog i Well : without 
asking permission, 1 sprung over the wall of our 
" Campagne," and strolled up to Montbenon, 
"dabbling" with every bird and butterfly that 
crossed my path. Arrived at Montbenon, it was 
decidedly a pretty sight ; and here do you know, 
I met so many friends ! It was everywhere — 
" Bon jour, Fino ! " " Bon jour, Drole !" A cake 
was given me here, a nice bit of cold meat there. 
Presently, however, arrived the " Colonel Fede- 
ral" V , and I made him a very respectful 

wag of the tail. Then the "PreTet," Monsieur 

M . I knew him well, a jolly little gentleman, 

with a fierce red " Boucane" and fiery whiskers. 

Shortly after, arrived Mr. A , the Syndic, a 

very haughty, cowardly gentlemen, who, in 
time of need, was invariably on a visit to his 
friends ; very unlike his noble successor, Mr. 
D , who was always at his post. 

The Keview went on famously. The day was 
excessively hot. The crowds were exceedingly 
great. I amused myself by watching and admir- 
ing all these various manoeuvres. At last the 
order was given to " form a square;" and wishing 
to get a correct view of this performance, J 
slipped between the legs of some of the " Mili- 
taires ;" and from the rapidity of the " manoeu- 
vres," suddenly found myself in the very centre 

of the square, with the aforesaid Colonel V , 

the Prefet, and the Syndic. Well ; I admired 

the caparison of the charger of Colonel V , 

as well as the green and white scarf of the Syndic 
and Prefet ; and I was in hopes of hearing the 
Colonel give orders to make way for rny " non 
militaire" person — especially as I had not got on 
my uniform ; but it appears that such orders do 
not accord with the ideas of gentlemen brought 
up to the military profession, and so I waited in 

The miisic now began to sound very martially 
in my ears ; but having no taste that way, I looked 
around to see how best to escape, when I luckily 
discovered " Francois." I made a bolt and a leap 
at him. He, like a great donkey, burst out 
laughing ; but military etiquette prevented his 
affording me a passage. I nearly floored him, how- 

ever. Hereupon, Captain T 1 shook his sword 

at me, and I sprung backwards ; giving a gentle 
gripe on the heel of the Syndic's charger, which 
sprung suddenly on his hind legs, and nearly 
capsized the worthy rider. This afforded great 
amusement to the crowd. The Syndic, however, 
waxed awfully wrath, and I anticipated the 
point of his sword would claim acquaintance with 
my ribs. Luckily, I ran straight against "Frere 
Jean," who, with his usual kindness, patted and 
coaxed me. Upon seeing this, the Syndic whis- 
pered a few words to the Colonel, and then ad- 
dressed " Jean" sharply. 

"Est ce votre chien, Jean?" 

" Non, Monsieur." 

" A qui done? — est ce que celavous regarde? " 

The Syndic's color changed from a pale sallow 
to a deep crimson, rage bursting out at every pore. 
Jean took out his tabatiere — and stroked his 
nose. The Syndic again rebuked Jean. Jean 
showed the point of his " serpetta ; " and with 
his usual coolness, replied, " tenez, Monsieur le 
Syndic ; voyons voir, cela pour — rait — al — ler — 
trop — loin. Je vous dirai deux mots plus tard." 
The colonel interfered ; and with some difficulty 
succeeded in restoring order and harmony. At 
length, it was agreed that I should be dismissed. 
One of the Syndic's party had however picked 
up a large stone, with the intention of cracking 
my unfortunate skull. Jean had watched him, 
and stepped forward just as he was going to 
apply it against me. 

" Crapaud que tu es," said Jean ; "si tu 
bouges, je te fends la tete sur le champ." Again 
the Syndic interfered; "what is it?" 

" Rien du tout, Monsieur le Syndic," says Jean. 
" J'allais seulement luifaire dire sapriere." 

The Syndic thought it better to pretend not to 
hear, as he had discovered through means of 
the Prefet, with whom he had to do. 

" Va t'en, brave Fino," said Jean, making 
way for me ; " Je viendrai vider une Botoglia 
ave toi ce soir." 

I looked thanks to my ever noble friend, and 
walked away; Jean laughing and stroking his 
nose all the time I was in sight. As for the 
poor Syndic, he looked furious ; and doubtless 
with any other man would have put in execution 
the law which would have consigned Jean to 
two days' imprisonment. Well, I was quietly 
walking off, when I saw a number of muskets 
"en piquet," and two or three piles of little 
drums I was again curious to know what this 
meant ; when I found it was a party who had a 
short repos, and luckily recognised our farmer, 
"David^ le Dinde." " Heigho ! " said I, 
"David, what's all this about?" 

" Nous sommes au repos" replied he, grin- 
ning like a Cheshire cat; with his broad mouth 
wide open, and staggering like a reeling peg- 
top. (He had been indulging rather copiously in 
the favorite beverage of the jolly god.) 

" Au repos ! " said I. 

" Ouai, Fino, ouai da" he replied ; when, 
without intending him any harm, I naturally 
leaped up to him — simpty intending to express 
my affection. This, unfortunately, caused him 
to lose his equilibrium ; and he fell backwards 
on one of the pretty pyramids of drums, which 
bounded off in every direction. 



"Eh, diable! c'est ce drole de Fino," cried 
" Epitaud," whom I had not observed till that 
moment ; and the worthy Doctor burst into a 
loud fit of laughing, as he saw his camarade 
sprawling on the ground, with his cap a couple 
of yards distant, and himself minus one of the 
tails of his military jaequet, 

David swore he was " tout crime," and called 
for his " Nannetta ; " and she, thinking I had gone 
home the shortest way, pursued me. But I saw 
the storm brewing, and just went in the opposite 
direction, turned to the left, and ran up Mont- 
benon through the " Kue du grand Chene," 
intending to escape through the " petit Chene." 
Here I again met " Grobety" — "Premier Tambour 
Major," who was also enjoying a little repos, and 
a little " vra rouge ; " — his functions, pro 
tern., being performed by Jim Crow, a good friend 
of mine, who was also a " tambour Major," as 
well as first bell-ringer to the English church at 

" Well, Fino," quoth Grobety, " quelles nou- 
velles ? " and I very briefly related my misfortunes 
of the day. " Ne crains point, mon cher," said 
Grobety, twisting his black moustachios up and 

Now I forgot to mention, that the " Eue du 
( bene" had been freely watered, to lay the dust, 
and consequently my paws were none of the 
cleanest. Grobety too, who had been enjoying 
himself, forgot all about his snow-white panta- 
loons, which, when we parted, bore most inde- 
lible marks of our cordial fraternisation. On he 
walked to Montbenon. There was a general 
laugh at the illustrious " tambour ; " but he was 
quite unaware of the singular appearance he cut, 
until informed of it ; when such a " potz tausend" 
came out, that I actually heard it as I was leap- 
ing over the wall of our campagne at " Cour." 
Even the severe Syndic could not but smile ; and 
as for Jean, he suspected all about it. The best 
thing was to take it good-hum ore dly, and more 
especially as there was no help for it. It would 
not do to quarrel with such men as Jean and 
Grobety. ]n the evening Jean made his appear- 
ance, and a famous laugh we all had ! Bombyx 
and his family, who had been up to Montbe- 
non, and witnessed all my pranks, returned 
shortly after the review was over, having spoken 
to the worthy " Prefer.," and excused my curious 

All were very amiable now their duty was 
over ; but they felt extremely annoyed at having 
been so much interrupted. They knew me very 
well, and were easily reconciled ; upon the promise 
however, that I would not repeat my amusement. 
Indeed they all laughed most heartily (excepting 
the Syndic). 

Jean, however, could not brook the remarks of 
the Syndic, and the latter, at the next general 
election, resigned — for what cause I know not, and 

Mr. D was his successor. An arbitrary and 

tyrannic magistrate does not always succeed in a 
republic, not even among dogs. All I know is, 
that Jean swore that his term of office should 
terminate as quickly as possible, and so it did. 

We finished our bottle of chambertin, which 
Bombyx had furnished to each of us, — Jean 
singing, and myself responding, — 

" A boire — a boire — a boire, 

Nous quitterons nous sans boire. 

Oh — non, non, non ! 

Les braves Vaudois, — 

Les militaires Vaudois ; 

Ne se separent pas 

Sans boire un coup ! " 

Do you think, Mr. Editor, if I were to take a 
fancy to sport my black person at Chobham, I 
should escape as well ? Do you know of a second 
Jean to defend me in case of need ? 

Always yours, most trustily, 

Tottenham, July 15. Fino. 

[Take our advice, brave Fino, and tarry 
at Tottenham. You would stand a bad 
chance indeed if seen at Chobham. Every 
dog found there, is " bagged ; " and with a 
tin affiche to his tail, he is hunted like a fox . 
He is lucky if he escapes with his life. In 
England we have very few, if any, " Freres 



Much has been written on the sub- 
ject of the sagacity of animals ; and much 
discussion has taken place as to what re- 
lation exists between the instinct of created 
beings of that class, and the intellect of the 
human species. It is not our intention to 
moot so difficult a question on the present 
occasion, but merely to mention a fact with 
which many of our readers may be unac- 
quainted — which is, that the exertion of the 
very quality on the part of a greyhound 
which would be considered by the philoso- 
pher as a near approach to the reasoning 
power, would be punished by the sportsman 
as a gross fault. This nature is, in dogs, 
termed " running cunning ;" that is, instead 
of following their game in a direct line, taking 
a short cut across to meet them. This faculty, 
so much valued by poachers, and highly 
eulogised by those who make animal instinct 
their study, is considered a crime worthy of 
death, by those very intellectual persons, 
gamekeepers, whippers-in, and country 

I was present a short time since, says a 
correspondent, in the course of my travels 
(on commercial considerations), in the public 
room of an inn in one of our provincial 
towns, Avhere, as usual in such places, the 
conversation turned — not on bullocks, as 
amongst the Hottentots — but on horses and 
dogs. One of the party related that, a few 
days before, he had been present at a dog- 
running, at which one of the animals in ques- 
tion had behaved in a most scandalous way ! 
The hare, of which the latter was in pursuit, 
he said, had turned up a dry ditch which ran 
in a circuitous line round the field in which 



the running took place. The dog, instead of 
following the creature up the ditch, " ran 
cunning ;" and taking the nearest cut across 
the field to the further end of the ditch, 
waited there for the hare, and meeting it, 
caught the animal in his mouth. For this 
infringement of "the laws of the chase," 
the hound was hanged on the nearest 
tree ! 

The whole of the company to whom this 
anecdote was related, applauded the justice 
of the deed. He was a villainous dog, and 
richly deserved his fate. Now here was an 
act superior to that related by the ancient 
philosopher, as demonstrative of the reason- 
ing faculties of the dog, that a hound coming 
to a place where the road branched off in 
three different directions, smelt at two of 
them, and dashed down the third without 
smelling. It is quite on a par with the 
anecdote narrated by Sir Walter Scott, that 
his dogs, when they saw him preparing for a 
visit to the neighboring town, would slip out 
of doors and Avait for him in the road — it being 
the custom, if possible, to shut them up and 
prevent their accompanying their master, 
when he took that journey. 

In what a different light must such matters 
be viewed by the philosopher and — the 
sportsman ! 



The sagacity of the Dog, an animal 
which our Creator has assigned a very pro- 
minent place in the affections of man, far 
surpasses all power of comprehension. Every 
day tells us of something wonderful con- 
nected with his race, and we are well pleased 
to let him rank as one of our "guardian 
angels." Our own experience leads to the 
belief, that he has extraordinary gifts for 
special purposes ; and all we hear tends to 
confirm that belief. 

We were casting our eye carelessly, a few 
days since, over some of the pages of " The 
Boy Hunters," by Captain Mayne Reid. 
Among other things that arrested our atten- 
tion, was the description of a man lost in the 
Prairie, who was afterwards discovered by 
the intelligence of a bloodhound. It is this 
graphically-detailed fact that we wish to 
register in our columns. We do love dogs ! 
But now for the prowess of our friend the 
bloodhound : — 

When the hunters found that their brother was 
lost, the first thing they did, in the hope that he 
had not wandered far, was to fire off their pieces, 
and then wait a sufficient time to give him an op- 
portunity of loading his gun, in case it had been 
previously discharged, to answer them. In this 
way they fired again ; and no reply being made, 

they resorted to the expedient of smoke. Light- 
ing a fire, they took some pieces of burning wad, 
and, placing them on the open ground, raked 
together a pile of dry leaves and grass, and ignited 
it. Upon this sticks were piled, and, on the top 
of these, green leaves and boughs, with several 
armfuls of Spanish moss, which hung plentifully 
from the oaks. A thick, blue smoke, soon ascended 
high into the heavens ; and, if the lost hunter 
should not see such a signal, it must be a proof 
that he was very far off indeed. In this case he 
did not see it. 

Fortunately, the party had a bloodhound with 
them. Tying the mule which carried their pro- 
visions to a tree, they fixed a piece of paper on its 
back, directing their brother to remain there, in 
case he should have found his way back during 
their absence. Then commenced the operation of 
" trailing with a bloodhound." Proceeding to the 
spot at which they had last seen their brother, 
when he had started on the turkey-hunt, they saw 
the tracks of his horse distinctly visible upon the 
turf. The eldest brother dismounted, and, after 
minutely examining the hoof-print, in order that 
they might know it again, in case the scent should 
be lost, called the hound to him. At this moment 
he held upon his arm the lost hunter's blanket. 
The dog scented it ; uttering, as he did so, a low 
whimper, and gazing in his master's face with a 
look of intelligence. The latter now " flung the 
blanket over his own saddle, stooped again, drew 
his fingers along the grass, and, with a wave of 
his hand, motioned Marengo to follow its direction. 
The hound, uttering a single yelp, bent his nose 
to the ground, and sprang forward upon the 

Dashing forward at a gallop, the hunters 
followed the dog ; now and then stopping to break 
a branch of some conspicuous tree, in order that 
they might know their way back. After riding a 
considerable distance, they observed the dog begin 
to double, and run in circling courses over the 
prairie. They now drew up, lest they should ride 
upon the track, and baffle him. Presently, how- 
ever, he stopped, with a howl of disappointment : 
he had lost the trail. 

After some minutes of agonising suspense, the 
eldest brother dismounted, and walking slowly, 
bent forward and downward carefully, observing 
the ground as he went. In these cases, the hunter 
must have many strings to his bow. Fortunately, 
he had examined the hoof-prints of the lost hunter's 
horse ere they set out, and now as he recognised 
them, he sprang forward with a shout of joy. In 
a moment the dog once more caught the right 
scent, and started off again, nose down, over the 
prairie. The brothers followed. 

At this moment a new difficulty presented it- 
self. The sun was setting on the high southern 
plateaux, over one of which they were travelling. 
They knew there was no twilight ; and should it 
come on a dark night, how were they to follow 
the dog. It grew darker and darker, till it was 
difficult to distinguish the dusky body of the hound 
passing over the sward. What was to be done ? 

"I have it!" suddenly exclaimed Basil, the 
eldest, and at the word he spurred his horse for- 
ward, to overtake Marengo. The next moment 
he flung himself from the saddle, and, seizing the 
hound, arrested him in his tracks. Then making 



his brother strip off his shirt, which was whiter 
than his own, he tore off the sleeves, and drew it 
upon the dog ; and, having passed the animal's 
fore-feet through the arm-holes, tied the collar 
securely round his throat with a piece of string, 
and knotted the skirts over the flanks behind. The 
dog was let loose again, while the brothers mounted 
hastily, and followed him. It was not long before 
they were rewarded by discovering their lost 

Such is the mode of tracking with the blood- 
hound, when any one is lost upon the prairie, and 
when he is fortunate enough to have friends in 
possession of the dog and the blanket. 

We wish bloodhounds were never used for 
other purposes than this. Connected with 
their family history, however, are deeds of 
blood, to read of which causes the hair to 
stand erect. Poor animals ! their sagacity 
is happily limited. They do their bidding, 
and are not answerable beyond the obedi- 
ence rendered. 



As when a cast of falcons make their flight 
At a wild herneshaw, tow 'ring aloft on wing. 


Some short time since, I was in Norfolk. 
It was the month of June. The place — in- 
termediate between the fens and the heronry ; 
time — the afternoon ; the wind blowing 
towards the heronry. Four couple of casts 
of the female Peregrine Falcon were taken 
on their perches in the portable frame, secured 
to the perch by a slip of leather ; each bird 
having a small bell on one of his legs; a 
leather hood with a piece of scarlet cloth 
stitched into it, over each eye, surmounted 
by a small plume of feathers on the top of 
the hood. 

Arrived at the spot, the falconer set down 
the frame, took off the falcons, and tethered 
them to the ground. Four falconers attended 
as masters of the hawks, having their stuffed 
bags as lures. 

After a while some herons passed, but at 
too great a distance ; but one coming within 
reach, preparations were made for the attack. 
Two of the falconers mounted on horseback, 
having a glove or gauntlet on the right hand, 
perched the falcons thereon; holding the birds 
by a slip of leather, with the finger and thumb 
— their lure bags tied to their waists. The 
heron was nearly opposite, but at a great 
height in the air, when the falconers slippedthe 
hoods from the heads of the falcons, and gave 
them a toss from their hands. The instant 
they were liberated they saw their prey, and 
made straight at the quarry, though the 
heron was considerably ahead. 

As they were dashing after the heron, a 

crow happened to pass the line of pursuit, 
when one of them darted after it, but it struck 
down into a plantation and saved itself; the 
falcon struck down after it., but did not suc- 
ceed. The other falcon pursued the heron, 
which disgorged its ballast of several fish; when, 
flying round in circles, he soared above the 
heron, and quickly descending, struck it on the 
back. Both came tumbling down together 
to the ground from a great height. The falcon 
that had lost time with the crow, came up as 
they were falling ; at the same instant a rook 
appeared in the vicinity of the fray, when 
the latter-named falcon struck at it violently, 
and they both came down within twenty 
yards of the falcon with the heron. Each 
falcon began to pull its victim to pieces ; 
when the falconers rode up and rescued the 
heron, threw out their lures, and the birds 
were permitted to have a feed upon pigeons 
— having been kept fasting to make them 
hungry. When fed, they were hooded and 
put up for the day. 

The next cast, which consisted of two 
young ones, were let loose at a heron, and 
they flew well up to it. But this quarry was 
an old one. The moment he saw the enemy, 
he flew up a great height, and made a loud 
croak. Whether from the difficulty of the 
height, or the preparation for encounter on 
the part of the veteran bird, this pair of casts, 
after a few ceremonious flights around their 
prey, "raked off," as it is called, and left it. 
The falconer, perceiving the affair to be off, 
gave a loud and peculiar cry ; when one of 
the falcons suddenly closed its wings and 
dropped from a great height, directly down, 
and alighted on the keeper's hand ; showhig, 
in a most marked and extraordinary degree, 
the well-tutored adventurer, and the sagacity 
and tractableness of the race. 

The other young bird sailed about till 
another heron appeared, which it attacked, 
but did not show much fight ; and soon left 
the combat. A third heron then came within 
range, when it flew at it with great sharp- 
ness, and soon brought the prey to the 
ground, as the former had done ; the heron 
having its wing broken by the blow. The 
first heron, taken alive, was equal to try 
another flight ; and a hawk was loosed on it, 
but it was struck down with great facility in 
a few seconds. It is generally understood 
that when a heron has once been thus taken, 
it will afford no second sport. — Gr. 


That prudence which the world teaches, and 
a quick susceptibility of private interest — will di- 
rect us to shun needless enmities ; since there is 
no man whose kindness we may not some time 
want, or by whose malice we may not some time 
suffer. — Johnson. 





The larvje of Flies, of which there are 
many different species, feed upon almost every 
kind of decaying substance, both animal and 
vegetable. Some devour the flesh of dead 
animals, whose putrefaction they accelerate ; 
others live in excrements, dunghills, and 
unctuous earth ; some species eat cheese ; 
some others inhabit the bodies of caterpillars 
and different larvae, which they gnaw and 
consume. Among those which feed on 
vegetable substances, some live in leaves, 
which they sap internally ; others live in 
galls, mushrooms, seeds of plants, and fruits. 
The use of the carnivorous larva? of this 
tribe of insects, appears to be to consume the 
carcases of animals, and so prevent the pes- 
tilential effluvium which would otherwise arise 
from them. From their numbers, they are 
capable of consuming a carcase in a very 
short time. Those which live on excrements 
seem to be born for the purpose of clearing 
the earth from aggregations of tilth, which 
might otherwise prove deleterious. 


This fly is so called from the fact of its 
depositing its eggs in the cracks and crevices 
of cheese. From these eggs are produced 
caterpillars, or maggots, whose external form 
presents nothing very remarkable ; yet they 
are able to leap in a most surprising manner 
— sometimes to the height of more than six 
inches. These leaps are the more astonish- 
ing, when we consider the minuteness of 
the animal, and that it is entirely destitute of 

To discover how this manoeuvre is per- 
formed, we must attentively watch a larva 
which is preparing for a leap. We shall 
observe it rise upright on its posterior part, 
and maintain itself in this position by means 
of some tubercles which are situated on the 
last ring of its body. Subsequently it bends 
itself, forms a sort of circle, by bringing its 
head towards its tail ; sinks the two hooks 
of its mouth in the two sinuosities which are 
at the skin of the last ring, and holds them 
firmly together. All this operation is but 
the affair of a moment. Then it contracts 
itself, and rears up so promptly, that the 
two hooks, in springing from the two sinuses 
in which they were retained, make a slight 
noise. By this quick movement the body 
strikes the ground, or the substance on which 
it may be resting, and rebounds at the same 
time to a considerable distance. The student 
of nature should make a point of examining 
these facts closely. They are so full of 
pleasing interest ! 

The perfect insect is furnished with an 
ovipositor, which it can thrust out to a very 

great length. Swammerdam says, " I have 
often seen them thrust out their tails to an 
amazing length, in order to deposit their eggs 
in the deep cavities. I found, in a few days 
afterwards, a number of maggots, which had 
sprung from those eggs, perfectly resembling 
those of the first brood that had produced 
the mother fly. I cannot but take notice, 
that the rottenness of cheese is really caused 
by these maggots, for they both crumble the 
substance of it into small particles, and also 
moisten it with some sort of liquid, so that 
the decayed part rapidly spreads. I once 
observed a cheese, which I had purposely 
exposed to this kind of fly, grow moist in a 
short time — in those parts of it where eggs 
had been deposited, and had afterwards been 
hatched into maggots ; though, before, the 
cheese was perfectly sound and entire." 

After having remained for a longer or a 
sh )rter time in the nymph form, according 
as the season may be favorable to their 
development, these flies issue forth from 
their cocoons. To effect this, they break 
off and push out a portion with their head, 
which swells in this operation. On first 
coming out, their wings are folded and 
rumpled, and appear to be mere stumps ; 
but they are soon developed, extend, and 
become level and smooth, as is the case with 
most other insects. 


" He that hath ears to hear, let him hear !" 

Morn calleth fondly to a fair boy, straying 
'Mid golden meadows, rich with clover dew ; 

She calls — but he still thinks of nought, save 
And so she smiles, and waves him an adieu ! 

Whilst he, still merry with his flowery store, 

Deems not that Mora, sweet Morn ! returns no 

Noon cometh — but the boy, to manhood growing, 
Heeds not the time — he sees hut one sweet 
One young fair face, from bower of jasmine glow- 

And all his loving heart with bliss is warm. 
So Noon, unnotic'd seeks the western shore, 
And man forgets that Noon returns no more ! 

Night tappeth gently at a casement gleaming 
With the thin fire-light, fhck'ring faint and 

By which a grey-hair'd man is sadly dreaming 
O'er pleasures gone, as all life's pleasures go. 

Night calls him to her, and he leaves his door, 

Silent and dark, — and he returns no more ! 


When worthy men fall out, only one of them 
may be faulty at first ; but if strife continue long, 
commonly both become guilty. — Fuller. 




THERE hah appeared in the 7Ymcv ne ws- 
paper, a Letter froHi Db« Faraday respect- 
ing thie absurd mania, vrhich imported, it 

Id seem, like Mormonism, spirit- rappini 
and other monstrous delusions, originally 
from the United State I • ■ pread over the 

called enlightened and educated countries 
of continental Europe, and also infected tl 
kingdom, with a rapidity and universality 
unequalled by any mere physical epidemic. 
In that Letter, the Professor intimated I 
intention of placing (which ho has done; the 
detail . of some experiments he has instituted, 
and the conclusions inevitably resulting from 
these experiments, before the public in the 
pages of the Athencmm. Let us endeavor to 
condense this, so far as it can be effected 
without rendering the explanation obscure. 
It is only right to quote Faraday's own 
word.-;, giving Bis reasons for devoting him- 
self to this mvestigation-— doubtless to in i 
own vexation and annoyance at having bis 
attention occupied by such trivialities; but 
by so doing he has acted the part of a good 
citizen, and stood in the breach ; for his 
lucid explanation of the causes, on the one 
hand, and the weight of his authority on the 
other, will pot only arrest the onward march 
of this latest folly, but it. i . to be hoped, pre- 
sent the further spread of still greater and 
more mischievous delusioi 

"J should," -ays Dr. Faraday (in the 
Times), "be sorry that you should suppose 
I thought this investigation necessary on 
my own account; for rny conclusion re- 
specting its nature was soon arrived at, and 
is not changed. But I have been so often 
misquoted, and applications to me for an 
opinion are SO numerous, that I hoped, if i 
enabled myself to give a strong one. you 
would consent to convey it to all persons 
interested in the matter."'' 

Let us now turn to the Atkenmim. The 
nature of the proof required, and the methods 
of inquiry followed, were of the same nature 
as are ordinarily demanded in any physical 
investigation In the first place the table- 
mover.-, whose services were employed. were 
not merely persons successful in producing 
this movement; but are vouched for by the 
Professor, as persons of honor and candor, 
yet at the same time influenced bv a wish 
to establish the existence of a peculiar motive 
power. Faraday has satisfied himself that a 
table moves, when the parties, although 
strongly wishing it. neither intend to nor be- 
lieve that they do move it by the exertion of 
ordinary mechanical [muscular) force. All 
these persons agreed in the belief that the talk 
moves th<< hands, not the hands the table, which 
appears to be the popular creed: so it was 

Dr. Faraday's object to prove to them ai 
to the rest of the world that the truth lies in 
the <- '■- of thi i ion. The 

first thing done, was to c* 
that none of the material.-, employed in con- 
structing j any way 
interfere with the to do this a bundle 
of plat es was mi > < of the mo 
incongruous materials, whether electrically 
or ordinarily g, — such as glass, sand- 
paper, glue, mo." .' • tinfoil, WOOcLgUtti 
percha, &c., i when amxed to 
a table, was place : ier the hands of a 
turner: the table turned. The experiment. 
A in many ws - *d with 
man-, . (mo • . I h one uniform 
result, viz,, the motion of the table c that 
no objection can be n .. to tl . le ol any 
orali of these materials as impeding or ob- 
structing the presumed no 

The next step n to i wsertain the de- 
velopment ol electrical, magnetic, attrac- 
tive, tangential, or rep re j ces, but in 
vain : no indication of these or any peculiar 
natural force could be detected, nor aught 
observed referable to other than mere me- 
chanical power exerted by the turner. The 
next thing was to determine the nature ofi 
pressure, or at any rate so much of it as ■■ 
exerted in a horizontal direction ; and this, in 
the first instance, was done unawares to 
the mover. A soft cement of wax and 
turpentine, or wax and pomatum, Wi 
prepared ; and four or five pieces of smooth 
slippery cardboard were fixed, one above 
the other, by pellets of this cement; the 
lowest of these eards was covered with 
d-paper and rested on the table : the 
edges of the ... ; . gradually over- 

's, other— the exact position of each 
being indicated by a pencil-line drawn on the 
under surface of each overlapping piece of 
cardboard. The uppermost sheet as larger 
than the rest, so as to hide all beneath it from 
*. This was then plaeed on a table, and 
the services of a turner called into play, who 
placed his hand* on the large uppermost 
card. The use of the apparatus is due to the 
nature of the cement, which is strong enough 
to offer considerable resistance to mechanical 
motion, and also to retain the cards in any 
ne ■ osition they might acquire ; yet it gives 
way slowly on the continued application of 
mechanical force. 

After some little time had elapsed, hands. 
I cards, and table, all moved to the left 
together, and a true result was obtained. On 
examination of the pack of cardboard, the 
displacement of the pencil-lines showed that 
i the hands had moved further than the table, 
! which, in faet, had lagged behind ; the upper- 
most card had been pushed to the left, 
dragging first the under cards, and lastly the 
table, along with it. In other instances, when 



the table remained immoveable, the upper 
card was found to have moved, — proving the 
hands to have carried it in the direction ex- 
pected. Here, then, is one experimental 
proof that the table did not draw the hands 
and the experimenter after it, nor even simul- 
taneously with it. On the contrary, the 
hands dragged along with them all things be- 
neath them — both cardboard and table ; the 
hands travelling further than anything below 
them, and in truth, being retarded by the 
cards and table, which tended continually to 
keep the hands back. 

To show whether the table or the hands 
moved first, or both moved, or remained at 
rest together, an index was constructed by 
fixing an upright pin in a leaden foot, which 
stood upon the table, and using this as the 
fulcrum of a light lever, twelve inches long, 
made of foolscap paper. The short arm of 
this lever, about half an inch long, was at- 
tached to a pin inserted in the edge of a piece 
of cardboard, placed on the table ready for 
the hands of the table-turner ; the long arm 
serving for the index of motion. The posi- 
tions of both card and index were marked, 
the cardboard being in the first instance 
fixed to the table by the cement before men- 
tioned, whilst the index was hidden from the 
turner, or he looked away ; when, before the 
table began to move, the deflection of the 
index in the expected direction showed the 
hands were already in motion and pressing 
that way. Under these circumstances the 
experiment was not pushed to the moving of 
the table ; since the table-turner was made 
aware that he had inadvertently exerted a 
lateral force. The cement fixing the card to 
the table was now removed ; this, however, 
could not have interfered with the antici- 
pated results of the experiments, since the 
bundle of plates before described, and single 
pieces of cardboard, had been easily moved 
on this table ; but now that the index was 
there, betraying to the eye and thence to 
the mind the pressure inadvertently exer- 
cised, the judgment was corrected, and not 
the least tendency to motion was manifested 
either by cardboard or table. It made no 
difference whether the card was attached to 
the table, or merely laid upon it ; with the 
index in sight, all motion and even tendency 
to motion had vanished ! 

Dr. Faraday then describes a more com- 
plete apparatus, which is thus made : — Two 
thin boards, nine and a half inches by seven 
inches, were provided, to the under side of 
one of which another board, nine inches by 
five inches, was glued, so as to raise its edges 
above the table, and which was called the 
.table-board. This being put on the table, 
near and parallel to its side, an upright pin 
was fixed close to the further edge of the 
board, and equi-distant from its ends, to serve 

as the fulcrum for the index lever. Four 
pieces of glass rod, seven inches long and a 
quarter of an inch in diameter, were placed 
as rollers on this table-board, and the upper 
board placed upon them : it is obvious that 
this arrangement will sustain any amount of 
pressure desired, with a perfectly free lateral 
motion of the upper on the lower board. A 
piece was cut out of the upper board, just 
opposite to the fulcrum-pin in the lower, and 
a pin, bent downwards at right angles, was 
driven in where this notch was made — the 
downward arm of the pin piercing the end of 
the short arm of the index-lever, made of 
cardboard ; the longer indicator being a hay- 
stalk of some fifteen inches long. 

To somewhat restrain the facile motion of 
the upper on the lower board, two vulcanised 
rubber rings were passed around them at the 
places where the lower board did not rest on 
the table ; these rings not only tied the 
boards together, but acted as springs, so that 
whilst they permitted the feeblest tendency 
to motion to be made evident by the index, 
they nevertheless exerted sufficient resistance 
before the upper board had moved a quarter 
of an inch on either side, to resist even a 
strong lateral force exerted by the hand. 
All being thus arranged, excepting that the 
lever was removed, the boards were tied 
together tightly, by strings running parallel 
to the india-rubber springs, to as to prevent 
their moving one upon the other. The appa- 
ratus was now placed on the table, and a 
table-turner sat down to it. Shortly, the 
table moved in due order ; proving the nature 
of the apparatus offered no impediment to 
the motion. When metal rollers were sub- 
stituted for glass ones, the same result was 
produced. The index was now put in its 
place and the strings taken away, so as to 
allow the springs to come into play ; it was 
soon seen, in the case of a party of table- 
movers, which could will the motion in either 
direction but from whom the index was 
purposely hidden, that the hands were slowly 
creeping in the direction previously agreed 
upon, although the party certainly thought 
they were pressing downwards only. On 
being shown the true state of the case, they 
were greatly surprised ; but when, on lifting 
their hands, they saw the index immediately 
return to its original position, they were con- 
vinced. When the index was no longer 
hidden from them, and they could see for 
themselves whether they were pressing 
directly downwards, or obliquely, so as to 
produce motion either to the right or the 
left, no movement was ever effected. Several 
persons tried for a long while together, and 
with the best will in the world ; but no mo- 
tion right or left of the table, the hands, or 
anything else, ever occurred. 

The value of these results is the conviction 



thus brought home to the table-turner, that 
it is by his own muscular action, apparently 
of an involuntary kind, that the table, &c, is 
set in motion ; and not that electricity, mag- 
netism, attraction, a new force, supernatural 
or diabolical agency, is communicated 
through him — notions, it would seem, enter- 
tained by many, " termed by courtesy " edu- 
cated men, but who, as a class, are ignorant 
of the first principles even of natural science 
— regarding its pursuit with an indifference 
approaching to contempt, and hearing of and 
witnessing its most striking and obvious 
applications with the stupid wonder of the 
savage at the appliances of civilised man. 

We have seen that when the turners looked 
at the index it remained motionless ; when it 
was hidden from them, or they looked away, 
it wavered about, in spite of their belief 
that they were only pressing directly down- 
wards. Thus, a corrective mental influence 
is exerted by the apparatus ; and when the 
most earnest and successful turners attempt 
to operate with this index before them, tell- 
ing truly whether they are pressing down- 
wards only, or obliquely to right or left, their 
poioer is gone; so that, when they become 
conscious of what they are really doing me- 
chanically, they remain no longer the victims 
of a self-delusion. 

It is unnecessary to pursue this subject 
further, or to describe other modifications 
of this apparatus instanced by Dr. Faraday. 
For the curious and the candid, sufficient 
has been said to enable them to construct 
the requisite apparatus, and to convince 
themselves if still desirous of personal proof; 
for others, it is simply useless to multiply 
either experimental or deductive proofs. 
We cannot, however, quit this subject with- 
out quoting, word for word, the stern and 
well-merited reproof addressed to the nation 
by this eminent man. " Permit me to say, 
before concluding, 1 ' writes Dr. Faraday, "that 
I have been greatly startled by the revela 
tion which this purely physical subject has 
made of the condition of the public mind. 
No doubt there are many persons who have 
formed a right judgment, or used a cautious 
reserve, for I know several such, and public 
communications have shown it to be so ; but 
their number is almost as nothing to the great 
body who have believed and borne testi- 
mony, as I think, in the cause of error. I 
do not here refer to the distinction of those 
who agree, with me and those who differ. 
By the great body, I mean such as reject all 
consideration of the equality of cause and 
effect, who refer the results to electricity and 
magnetism — yet know nothing of the laws of 
these forces ; or to attraction — yet show no 
phenomena of pure attractive power ; or to 
the rotation of the earth, as if the earth 
revolved round the leg of a table; or to 

some unrecognised physical force, without 
inquiring whether the known forces are not 
sufficient ; or who even refer them to diabo- 
lical or supernatural agency, rather than 
suspend their judgment, or acknowledge to 
themselves that they are not learned enough 
in these matters to decide on the nature of 
the action, i" think the system of education 
that could leave the mental condition of the 
public body in the state in which this subject has 
found it, must have been greatly deficient in 
some very important principle.'''' 

We have ever said and proved it, that the 
world is mad; and Faraday has said and 
proved it, that the world is also made up of 
fools. We have then, as a nation, not much 
to boast of ! 


Oh ! sing again that touching song, 

That song of other times ! 
The music bears my soul along, 

To other, dearer climes. 

I love its low and broken tone ; 

The music seems to me 
Like the wild wind, when singing lone 

Over a twilight sea. 

It may not sound so sweet to you ; 

To you it cannot bring 
The valleys where your childhood grew, 

The memories of your Spring. 

My father's house, my infancy, 

Eise present to my mind, 
As if I had not crossed the sea 

Or left my youth behind. 

I heard it at the evening's close, 

Upon my native shore ; 
It was a favorite song with those 

Whom I shall see no more. 

How many worldly thoughts and cares 

Have melted at the strain ! 
'Tis fraught with early hopes and prayers — 

Oh ! sing that song again. 

L. E. L. 


A companion that is cheerful, and free from 
swearing and scurrilous discourse, is worth gold. 
I love such mirth as does not make friends 
ashamed to look upon one another next morning ; 
nor men, that cannot well bear it, to repeat the 
money they spend when they be warmed with 
drink. And take this for a rule : you may pick 
out such times and such companions, that you 
may make yourselves merrier for a little than a 
great deal of money ; for, " 'tis the company 
and not the charge that makes the feast." — Izaak 





The Instructions for the present month 
will necessarily be light. And first let us 
speak of 


New plantations of Strawberries may still be 
made, and all the runners cut off from the old 
plants. Protect your Plums or other ripe fruit on 
walls from flies and wasps. Some bottles hung 
up in the trees, partly filled with beer- dregs, 
sweetened with treacle, will decoy them. Examine 
vines regularly, and remove all useless growths, 
particularly any formed above the fruit, which 
should be exposed to the sun. The smaller berries 
may still be thinned out. Keep all the branches 
neatly nailed in. Raspberry canes which have 
ripened off their fruit, should be cut down ; by 
so doing, those intended to bear next season will 
be strengthened. 


Annuals should be removed as soon as their 
flowers decay ; unless seed from them is required, 
when a portion may remain. But, in the majority 
of cases, the earliest flowers will have perfected 
their seeds before the plant becomes unsightly. 

Auriculas. — Many growers prefer the first 
week in this month to pot their plants, alleging 
as a reason that when they are potted in May, 
they are more liable to throw up weak flower-stems 
in autumn ; but this will only occur in wet seasons, 
and then partially ; however, many successful 
growers have adopted both seasons. If they were 
potted as soon as their flowers were over, a top 
dressing of the same soil will benefit them now, 
removing any decayed leaves, and taking off-sets 
from them for increase. 

Bulbs. — Continue to take up any whose leaves 
are decayed. 

Carnations may be layered in the beginning 
of the month ; and as soon as the plants have 
rooted, which will be in five or six weeks, they 
must be taken off and potted, (two or three in a 
small pot,) and placed in a shaded situation to get 
established before winter. They may then be 
placed in the pit, or be hooped over and protected 
during severe weather. Drain the pots well, as 
too great abundance of wet is more to be feared 
than frost. The commoner kinds may be planted 
out without potting. 

Chrysanthemums should now be shifted into 
their flowering-pots, using strong rich soil. It 
will be found a good plan to save watering, (of 
which they require a great deal,) to cover the 
surface-soil in the pots with moss, to prevent it 
from drying so quick. When they get established 
in these pots, they may receive waterings of liquid 
manure twice a week. 

Dahlias. — Gather seeds of any choice kinds. 
Keep them neatly tied, and examine the early 
ties that they do not pinch. Loosen them if they 
do, or the wind will easily break them at that 
point. Remove decaying flowers, and watch for 
caterpillars. To entrap ear-wigs, place a small 
flower-pot inverted upon the stake, with a little 
hay in the bottom ; or put some short lengths of 

bean-stalks amongst the branches and examine 
them every morning ; blowing the insects into a 
basin of hot water. 

Heartsease. — Cuttings of any choice kinds for 
the principal spring bloom should now be put in, in 
a shaded situation. They may for security receive 
a slight protection during winter. 

Pelargoniums. — Any that were cut down after 
flowering, and have begun to sprout again, may 
have the soil carefully shaken from their roots, 
and be repotted in as small pots as possible ; using 
poor soil. This is to allow of their being succes- 
sively potted in spring, which if left in their 
flowering-pots could not take place ; set them in 
the pit at once, or in a shaded situation, until they 

Pinks. — The pipings should be pricked out 
immediately they are rooted, to strengthen before 
they are finally planted at the end of next month. 

Propagate, by cuttings, such plants as Petu- 
nias, Verbenas, Calceolarias, scarlet Pelargoniums, 
and Mesembryanthemums, for next year. Pre- 
pare pots filled with light soil and well-drained ; 
then plant thickly round their sides the cuttings, 
which will readily root if placed in a shaded situ- 
ation, or in the turf-pit or house-window, where 
they may remain all the winter. 

Stocks. — Biennial kinds (as Giant or Bromp- 
ton) should now be planted out where it is intended 
they should flower. 

Seeds of Calceolarias and Pelargoniums should 
be sown now in pots. If deferred until spring, 
they do not flower the same season. Gather any 
that are ripe. 

Keep all plants in flower neatly tied up, and 
remove their flowering stems as soon as they cease 
to be interesting. Evergreen hedges or shrubs 
may be cut in, and keep every part of the garden 
in as perfect order as possible. 

During this month, the hues of autumn 
will begin to make their appearance ; but its 
approaches in the flower borders may be 
deferred by regularly removing decayed 
flowers of such plants as throw up a suc- 
cession. Chrysanthemums should have their 
tops taken off now at different heights, so 
that the flowers may range above each other, 
and the plants become furnished with nume- 
rous flowering branches, instead of one. Some 
of the strongest of the top- shoots removed, 
may be immediately planted into small pots as 
cuttings. They will soon root and make 
dwarf flowering-plants. The bandages round 
buds or late grafts will by this time require 
loosening and re-tying, if they are not firmly 
united Plants intended for late flowering 
in the window, as Calceolarias or Fuchsias, 
should be kept free from flowers now ; and, 
for the same purpose, a few of the best late 
annuals may be potted and placed in a shady 
situation. Examine bulbs that they are not 
damp, or they will soon become mouldy and 
injured. Destroy weeds and insects whenever 
detected. Gather herbs in flower for drying, 
and articles for pickling. Keep the soil about 
winter crops regularly loosened. 




Joking, when not used upon improper matter, in an 
unfit manner, with excessive measure, at undue season, 
or to e il purpose— may be allowed. But all practical 
jokes, as they are called, should be studiously avoided, as 
they too often leave cause for lasting regret. 



^S£MH«m <>F F0LLY committed at 
IkVH^^^ thi s season, in the form of 
"practical jokes," that we 
feel it an act of duty to im- 
press something on the 
memory connected therewith, 
that will not soon be forgotten. Many a 
person has, by one act of inconsiderate rash- 
ness, done that which a whole lifetime could 
not afterwards atone for. Let the subjoined, 
taken from the Memoirs of Cassanova de 
Steingalt, operate as a warning to all intend- 
ing offenders. 

Towards the end of autumn, Fabrius in- 
troduced me to a very amiable and well- 
informed family, whose residence was in the 
country at a place called Zero. Our amuse- 
ments here were playing billiards, talking to 
the ladies, and mystifying each other. This 
last amusement was sometimes carried alittle 
too far ; but it was considered a want of 
heroism to evince any ill-humor, however 
severe the ordeal might be. You were ex- 
pected to take the thing in good part, or sub- 
mit to be looked upon as a dolt. Sometimes 
on getting into bed, it gave way beneath you, 
or your slumbers were disturbed by some 
sheeted ghost gliding into your apartment ; 
at other times, the ladies were presented with 
comtits or sweetmeats, the inevitable effects 
of which may be more easily imagined than 
told. As for me, I was not only rich in in- 
ventions of this nature, but showed myself 
possessed of the most inexhaustible patience 
under the tricks played off upon me, until I 
became a victim of one which inspired me 
with the most ardent desire for vengeance. 
. We often directed our walks towards a farm 
which was about half a league distant. The 
way to this farm was crossed by a wide ditch, 
over which was thrown a strong plank that 
served as a bridge. I generally passed first 
over this narrow bridge, to encourage the 
ladies and engage them to follow me. One 
fine day I took the lead of the company as 
usual, when, on reaching the middle of the 
plank, it suddenly gave way, and fell with 
me into the ditch. There was not, it must 
be confessed, a drop of water in it ; but, what 
was worse, there was a considerable depth of 
black fetid mud. Although embalmed in 
this up to the ears, I put on a good counte- 
nance and joined in the general laugh that 
accompanied my fall. 

But this was not to be of long duration, for 
all the company agreed that the trick was 

by far too severe a one. Some of the neigh- 
boring peasantry were sent for, who drew me 
out of the mire in a most deplorable state; 
my summer suit, embroidered in gold, lace 
frills and ruffles, and silk stockings, were com- 
pletely spoiled. I pretended to make light 
of all this, laughing at the adventure, but 
determined in my own mind to take ven- 
geance, if possible, for so unworthy a jest. In 
order to discover the author, it became neces- 
sary to affect the most complete indifference. 
On being taken back to the house, I was 
kindly accommodated with linen and clothes. 
I had brought no supply with me, as I had in- 
tended to remain only twenty -four hours. 
The next morning I went to town, but re- 
turned in the evening, and joined the com- 
pany as if nothing had happened. Fabrius, 
who viewed the thing in the same light as I 
do, told me it would be impossible to discover 
the author of this trick. But by promising 
a ducat to a peasant girl, if she would tell 
me who sawed the plank, I succeeded. She 
pointed me out a young man, whose tongue 
I untied with another ducat, accompanied by 
menaces. He confessed to me that he acted 
under the direction of a Mr. Demetrius, a 
Greek merchant, a man between forty-five 
and fifty years of age, of an agreeable and 
jovial disposition, on whom the only mysti- 
fication I had ever played off was outrival- 
ling him in the good graces of Madame de 
K — 's femme-de-charrtbre, to whom he had 
taken a liking. 

In the whole course of my life I never 
fatigued my brain so much as on this occa- 
sion, in endeavoring to invent some trick 
with which to plague this much-hated Greek. 
I was desirous that it should be at least as 
extraordinary and disagreeable as the one he 
had served me. The more I thought on the 
subject, the less likely I seemed to be to ob- 
tain the object of my wishes ; till a passing 
funeral suggested an idea to me that I lost 
no time in executing. Towards midnight I re- 
paired alone, armed with a cutlass, to the 

Here I disinterred a newly-buried body, and 
with some difficulty, cut off the arm at the 
shoulder-joint. After replacing the body in 
the earth, I returned with the dead man's arm, 
and got unperceived to my room. The next 
night I quitted the company after supper ; 
and taking with me the dead arm, I 
stole into the Greek's room, and concealed 
myself under his bed. A quarter of an hour 
afterwards, my Greek entered his room, un- 
dressed himself, put out the light, and got 
into bed. When I supposed he was asleep, 
I gently drew the quilt half off. He awoke 
and said, laughing, " Get away with you, 
whoever you may be, for I do not believe in 
ghosts." He then drew up the quilt, and 
turned again to sleep. 

Vol. IV.— 4. 



After waiting five or six minutes, I recom- 
menced my operations ; and lie again laughed. 
But when he endeavored to draw up the 
quilt, I held it back, and he immediately 
stretched forth his hand to seize that of 
the person whom he supposed to be under 
the bed. Instead of letting him catch mine, 
I put the dead man's hand into his, taking 
care to keep a strong hold of the arm. The 
Greek made a most violent effort to draw to- 
wards him, by the hand which he had seized, 
the person to whom it belonged, when suddenly 
I let go my hold, and the Greek spoke not a 
word, nor uttered the least cry. Having 
played off my trick, I regained my room, 
and v ent to bed, thinking that I had given 
him a good fright, and nothing more. 

But the next morning, I was awakened by 
a confused noise of people running back- 
wards and forwards through the house. I 
got up to learn the cause ; and on meeting 
the lady of the house, she told me that I had 
carried things too far. 

" Why, what is the matter ?" 

" Mr. Demetrius is dead." 

" Well, what have I to do with his death ?" 

She quitted me without making any 
answer ; and I, though not a little alarmed, 
went to the Greek's room fully determined 
to affect the most profound ignorance of this 
adventure. All the inmates of the house 
were assembled there ; and I found, besides, 
the cure engaged in a violent altercation 
with the beadle, who positively refused to re- 
bury the arm, which still lay in the room. 
Every one looked upon me with horror, and 
it was in vain that I protested I was a total 
stranger to the affair. From all sides they 
cried out, " It was you, for you alone are 
capable of doing such an act ; it resembles 
you in every particular." 

The cure' told me 1 had committed a very 
heinous crime, and that it was his duty to in- 
form the proper authorities of it. I told him 
he might do as he pleased, for, as I had no- 
thing to reproach myself with, I had no 
cause to be afraid. At dinner I learned that 
the Greek, having been blooded, had opened 
his eyes, but that he was unable to speak, 
and that all his limbs were paralysed. The 
next day he recovered his speech ; when I 
left the house he was still paralytic, and his 
mind in a very enfeebled state, from which 
he never completely recovered during the 
rest of his life. 

The cure had caused the arm to be re- 
buried, and communicated all the details of 
the affair to the episcopal chancelry of Tre- 


How difficult a thing it is to persuade a man 
to reason against his own interest ; though be is 
convinced that equity is against him ! — Trusler. 



Nobody can now tell us where Lon- 
don begins ; neither can anybody tell us 
where it ends. It has already swallowed up 
nearly all the suburban villages ; and it 
threatens to extend its encroachments far 
and wide into the country. The dwellers in 
the " City 1 ' have long given up all hope of 
ever seemg blue skies and green fields, ex- 
cept on holidays — which, in the City, beyond 
any other place in the world, are few and 
far between. Even those who are privileged 
to reside in the outskirts, which twenty 
years ago were pleasant meadows and green 
lanes, now find they can hardly reach a 
quiet spot in the compass of a summer's 
evening walk. 

By such persons as these, the value of our 
public parks and enclosures can alone be 
properly estimated ; and by them they are 
felt to be essentials of existence. There is 
one lovely rural spot (almost the only one), 
yet left within easy walking distance ; and 
that is, Hampstead Heath. Primrose Hill, 
it has been prophesied, will hereafter be the 
centre of London ; but though that event is, 
to say the least, a distant one, it requires no 
prophet's eye to foresee that in two or three 
years it will become the centre of a new and 
populous town, if something be not done to 
arrest the building-enterprises which are 
going on around it. The beautiful spot we 
have mentioned will become almost value- 
less ; and it will no longer afford to the pent- 
up citizen the delightful walks he enjoys 
there at present. Impressed with these 
views, and animated by a philanthropic 
spirit, Professor Cockerell has come forward 
with a magnificent scheme for turning 
Hampstead Heath into a park, to be con- 
nected with Primrose Hill by a boulevard 
300 feet in width, so as to form one conti- 
nuous promenade with the Regent's Park. 

With reference to this grand scheme, our 
contemporary the Builder, says : — 

Taking our course from the Regent's Park, the 
road proposes to pass over the commanding height 
of Primrose Hill, and thence to ascend grace- 
fully by a magnificent park-ride and avenue 
or boulevard — reminding us of the most en- 
chanting continental arrangement — till it enters 
the Hampstead Road, by the existing beautiful 
avenue of Belsize Park, improving the surround- 
ing building land by situations for the most de- 
sirable villas and gardened habitations. 

The course thence is by Hampstead Green, 
passing over another commanding eminence 
known as Traitor's Hill, from which an admirable 
view of London and surrounding scenery presents 
itself, through land now desired to be built over, 
and which, if so appropriated, would for ever de- 
face the beautiful locality. From this ground the 
road mounts to the Royal Terrace across the 



Heath, appreciated alike by the monarch and the 
mechanic, and continues to the well-known Firs, 
from whence is enjoyed a lovely view of Harrow 
and the western country, unsurpassed by the 
imaginings of Claude and Turner. 

In the enjoyment of this beautiful scenery, we 
descend the Heath to a hamlet designated North- 
End, and proceed around its western verge to a 
third commanding height, called Telegraph Hill, 
which, as Its name implies, is a landmark through 
the country, and again displays to us a new and 
enchanting panorama. Here we arrive at a fur- 
ther portion of the ground desired to be appro- 
priated for building, but which this project would 
secure as a necessary adjunct to the enjoyment of 
the Heath ; passing through this land, the road 
would return to the upper terrace. The extent of 
open ground would in all be about 300 acres. 

We have taken it for granted that this remark- 
able suburb is known to our readers ; if not, let 
them take the trouble to survey it from the 
heights we have cited, in this pleasant season, 
and we need add no further argument to convince 
every beholder and lover of this metropolis, of the 
vast importance of securing, once for all, this un- 
rivalled pleasure-ground for our overgrowing 
Babylon. Parks we have, it is true ; but none to 
compare with what this would be. Nature has 
formed it for the purpose, and art would seek in 
vain to improve it. 

We cannot but regard the project as a 
noble one. It is perfectly evident that 
nothing else can save the most beautiful of 
our suburbs from positive destruction. It is 
therefore with the greatest pleasure, as well 
as from a deep conviction of duty, that we 
raise our voice, however feeble, along with 
that of other portions of the metropolitan 
press, in defence of a proposal so excellent, 
so deserving of nniversal support. 


The Turtle-Dove. — As your paper is so warm 
an advocate for the feathered race, and you evi- 
dently delight in recording the many little traits 
by which they endear themselves to their owners, 
I offer no apology for adding my testimony to 
that of others. I would speak to you about the 
turtle-dove — the genuine turtle-dove, which comes 
to our island in April and leaves in September. 
During a four years' residence in Essex, a parish- 
ioner of my brother's had reared one of these 
birds, which in the course of many visits to his 
sick brother, I had often admired as it feai'lessly 
sat with the shepherd's dog and cat. As winter 
advanced, the youth entreated me to accept his 
pet, which he feared would be killed by winter's 
cold, unless carefully nursed. I accepted the 
pretty gift, and carried it at once to my home, 
where it became speedily attached to me. It 
formed a great friendship, too, with a black cat 
and favorite spaniel, whose food it sought to share 
from the same platter. This bird never forgot an 
affront. A member of the family, whose patience 
was exhausted in seeking unsuccessfully her 
friendship, waved a red handkerchief at her. 
She was terrified, and though eight years have 

elapsed, the insult is not forgotten. Several 
years passed ere I could overcome her dislike to 
the color. After three years we moved our resi- 
dence, and during the change I went on a visit to 
some friends, with whom I remained three 
months. I then returned, bringing the bird with 
me ; it had been unaccountably dull during the 
whole time. It was night when I arrived ; and 
as soon as my sister spoke, it became agitated and 
flew about to have its cage opened. It then imme- 
diately took wing to her, with every demonstration 
of affection ; and from that time to this, its con- 
stancy has remained unshaken. Vainly have we 
tried to deceive it by night or day. Its hatred to 
me was as great, and it will fly after me, scold 
me, peck me, and annoy me in every way it can. 
On one occasion alone has it shown any kind 
feeling, and that was, during the absence of my 
sister for nine weeks, when she left it under my 
charge. But as soon as she returned, I was cast 
off. All attempts to divert its affection, by pro- 
viding a suitable mate, have failed ; but my sister 
can do anything with it, — pull its head, squeeze 
it, play any trick with it. Caresses, and the 
sweetest "coo," are the sole return. It follows 
her everywhere ; takes the needle from her 
hand when she is at work ; the pen when 
writing ; and it will sit on her hand and kiss it, 
whilst she is engaged at the piano. It is remark- 
ably fond of bread, biscuit, butter, and salt ; and 
freely helps itself at breakfast to these articles. 
Then will it return to its place, by or on my sister. 
This bird is now in its thirteenth year. It is in 
the full enjoyment of health, and boasts a very 
fine plumage. This latter, I think, is much 
aided by its enjoyment of a very large bath, in 
which it splashes, rolls, and sits for a quarter of 
an hour together. It is a hen bird, and once it 
deposited an egg at the bottom of the cage. It 
has taken flight from home at intervals ; but its 
mistress fears for its safety, and now guards 
against its straying. The old spaniel is still 
alive, but he has lost all his vivacity and pleasure 
in accompanying his master and mistress in their 
equestrian trips. The original cat, too, has given 
place to a very fine specimen of the soft and long- 
haired species, with a tail like a lady's boa, 
brought up by a relative's groom. It is a great 
pet, and friendly with both dog and bird. Its 
usual resting-place at night used to be a silk 
apron, which Tom would search for all over my 
room till found. Since I have been absent (now 
many months), Puss has sought and found 
another friend to make his couch for him. — 
E. F. P., Kingston Lisle, Berks, July 16. 

[We always have very great pleasure in giving 
insertion to true anecdotes of animals. Their 
winning ways, affectionate endearments, and sin- 
gular attachments, deserve more notice than is 
usually taken of them. The cat above alluded to 
is of the Angora breed. These are noted for their 
affection. We very much regret the many " fabri- 
cated" anecdotes which at this season find such 
ready entrance into our public journals. They 
are called "funny," and certainly they do elicit a 
laugh ; but they do a vast injury to the study of 
natural history. There are plenty of pleasing 
"facts, "without having recourse to witty inven- 



Sea-side " Plants''' 1 and Pleasantries. — We all 
know, Mr. Editor, the various schemes which 
are at this season "tried on" at our watering- 
places. The following " plant," which appears 
not to have " taken," will serve to raise a smile, 
if it does not put any intended victim upon his 
guard. The child seems to have learnt mamma's 
lesson perfectly ; and her failure was " not for 
the want of any exertion on her part : " — 

" The Marquis is not to he won, Mamma ; 
My advances he seems to shun, Mamma ! 

I appeal to you — 

What am I to do ? 
0, tell me wharfs next to he done, Mamma ? " 

" Have you sat hy his lordship's side, my child ? 
And every hlandishment tried, my child ? 

Have you heav'd deep sighs, 

And look'd in his eyes ? 
And adroitly flatter'd his pride, my child? " 

" yes ; and I've done even more, Mamma ; 
Things I never have done before, Mamma ; 

For I fainted quite, 

In his arms last night, 
As we stood on the sea-girt shore, Mamma ! " 

" If the man is proof against that, my child, 
Why the sooner he takes his hat, my child, 
Between you and me, 
The better 'twill be, 
For you see he's not such a flat, my child !'" 

E. C. W. 
[This is a very fair specimen of maternal 
manoeuvres, which are now " on" for the season. 
Flats! lookout.] 

How to Cidtivate Water-Cresses. — Choose a 
moist situation — if near a pond, or the pump, the 
better, with a light rich soil. Procure either 
seeds, or plants, or cuttings, in the spring ; if 
plants, set them about six inches distant. They 
will soon grow, and the produce will amply repay 
the trouble. Keeping them moderately moist, 
they will continue many years, growing good 
crops. — G. H. 

Black-Beetles and Cockroaches. — You have 
told us of several things which these animals 
stand in dread of; but nothing will so effectual^ 
get rid of them as quick-lime, spread over their 
haunts. It fairly burns them up if they approach ; 
and they instinctively dread coming in contact 
with it.— W. S. 

Justice and Mercy not inseparable. — In the 
days of Nelson, my dear sir, justice on board a 
man-of-war was tempered with mercy. It is not 
so now. We hear of men being scourged with 
the lash, and we are told it is necessary by way 
of example ! Now, Nelson had a heart, and yet 
he was a good commander ! We are told he 
was always unwilling to inflict punishment, and 
when he was obliged, as he called it, "to endure 
the torture of seeing men flogged," he came out 
of his cabin with a hurried step, ran into the 
gangway, made his bow to the officers, and, 
reading the articles of war the culprit had in- 
fringed, said, " Boatswain, do your duty." The 
lash was instantly applied, and, consequently, the 

sufferer exclaimed, " Forgive me, Admiral, for- 
give me." On such an occasion Nelson would 
look round with wild anxiety, and as all his offi- 
cers kept silence, he would say, " What ! none of 
you speak for me ? Avast, cast him off! " And 
then added to the culprit, " Jack, in the day of 
battle, remember me." He became a good fellow 
in future. A poor man was about to be flogged — 
a landsman — and few pitied him. His offence was 
drunkenness. As he was being tied up, a lovely 
girl, contrary to all rules, rushed through the 
officers, and, falling on her knees, clasped Nelson's 
hand, in which were the articles of war, exclaim- 
ing, " Pray, forgive him, your Honour ; he shall 
never offend again." " Your face," said Nel- 
son, " is a security for his good behavior. Let 
him go ; the fellow cannot be bad who has such 
a lovely creature in his care. This man rose to 
be lieutenant ; his name was William Pye. A 
record of the above in our Journal, Mr. 
Editor, cannot be out of place at this particular 
time. "Discipline" is about to be "rigorously 
enforced," it is said. May mercy guide the 
hand that inflicts the torture ! — Violet, Wor- 

Green Parrots. — The family in which I reside, 
have long had a favorite parrot; and have always 
been in the habit of feeding it with bread, butter, 
indeed anything of which they have themselves 
been partaking. A few evenings since, they gave 
" Poor Polly" its tea as usual. It appeared quite 
well and happy. However, in less than two hours 
afterwards it dropped from its perch and died 
suddenly. Wc found on examination, that its 
mouth was full of bread. Can you tell me the 
cause of its death? I need not tell you how 
truly grieved we are at its loss. — F. S. B., Jermyn 

[The bird was no doubt choked. Not being 
able to swallow its food, it had a fit. This termi- 
nated in death. We have known several occur- 
rences of this kind. Great care should be taken 
to prepare the food properly.] 

Canaries, and Goldfinch-Mules. — I consulted 
you last year about my birds. Your answer was, 
" Keep your goldfinch until next year. Your 
old canaries are useless to breed from." I did 
not see this advice printed in the Journal till a 
very long time after it appeared, as the book- 
sellers persisted in saying the " work was discon- 
tinued." Indeed, to this day, I am deficient of a 
great many back numbers.* Under these cir- 
cumstances, I placed my goldfinch in a breeding- 
cage, with a canary one year old. In two days a 
nest was formed, and shortly afterwards I found 
in it six eggs. These, however, were quickly 
broken by the goldfinch. Another nest was 
built, and four eggs this time were laid. The hen 
sat twenty-one days ; but the eggs were all unpro- 
ductive. A third nest was formed, and four eggs 
laid. The hen sat twenty days, but the result 
was "as before." The old birds made no nest. 
So much for last year. This year, I tried the old 

* Apply for your deficient Numbers and Parts 
at 12, Great Castle Street, Begent Street. You 
will there be able to obtain what you require. — 
Ed. K. J. 



hen -with the goldfinch. They have built twice, 
had eggs twice, and sat twice. But a\\ in 
vain, no young were hatched! I have tried a 
young cock goldfinch, and a young hen canary. 
They have built, laid, sat, twice. Still, all the 
eggs bad. How is this ? — A. L. Futman, Port- 
land Place. 

[You should never attempt to breed from old 
birds. It is useless — time thrown away. Gold- 
finches often break the eggs. They are very mis- 
chievous birds. All your hen birds are evidently 
unfruitful. You did wrong to let them sit beyond 
a fortnight. It weakens them. Get rid of all 
your stud, and try again next season. Apply to 
Clifford, 24, Great St. Andrew Street, Holborn. 
He will supply you at an easy rate, and not let 
you have any birds but those which can be de- 
pended on. Consult him, too, about your cages, 
and the proper place to fix and suspend them in. 
All these things are important. We are really sorry 
to hear of your disappointments, after taking so 
much trouble. By the way, it would be a pity 
to part with the two tame birds you speak of 
at the end of your note. Though not adapted for 
the breeding-cage, they wall be nice companions.] 

Ash-colored Parrot, with Bad Habits. — About 
two months since, I purchased an ash-colored 
parrot, it being at the time 1 purchased it nearly 
denuded of its feathers. I learnt, on inquiry, 
that for the last three years it had been fed on 
hemp-seed, milk, and bread. This diet I have 
now entirely altered; substituting, in its stead, 
bread soaked in boiled milk, and a little ripe 
fruit. Still it continues to pluck out its feathers ; 
and within the last few days, it has bitten all the 
red feathers in the tail close off at the stump. It 
has also taken to a very bad habit of re-produc- 
ing in its mouth the food previously swallowed. 
This it does whenever I speak to it ; and I appre- 
hend it is a token (though a most disagreeable 
one), of pleasure at being noticed. Can you tell 
me how I shall cure either or both of these bad 
habits ?— W. S. F., Devon. 

[Will you please to turn to the article on 
" Parrots," at page 64, Vol. III. of our Journal. 
We quite lean towards the argument of Dr. Mor- 
ris, therein introduced, as to the cause of this irri- 
tability. It is all but incurable, as the bird is 
never free from suffering. Never give it any meat, 
or feed it " high," and keep it in a very cheerful 
situation. On an elevated stand in the garden, 
would be a nice spot. Constant change of scene 
might distract the bird's attention, and so cure 
him of his fidgetty habits ; but if the cause still 
continues, there will be a recurrence of the evil. 
W e fear the other bad habit is equally difficult of 
cure. There is no way of convincing these ani- 
mals they are doing wrong. Unlike the dog in 
every respect, they mechanically obey the im- 
pulse of the moment ; and if they drop one bad 
habit, it is too often to replace it by another. The 
tribe of parrots is completely sui generis. We 
have very many consultations about them, and 
most of the owners tell one and the same tale. 
We would most gladly help you if we could.] 

Animal and Vegetable Sensation. — How many 
species of sensation Nature has created, it is im- 
possible to conjecture. But by all the rules of 

analogy, it is evident there are at least two — the 
vegetable and the animal. Some extend sensation 
even to minerals ; and, according to them, earths 
have a less perfect sensation than bitumen and 
sulphur. These yield to metals — metals to vitriols 
— vitriols to lower salts. These to lower species 
of crystallisation — and those to what are called 
stones. The mineral is connected to the vegetable 
world by the amianthes and lytophres. Here a 
new species of sensation begins — a sensation par- 
taking of the united qualities of mineral and vege- 
table, having the former in a much greater degree 
than the latter. Vegetable is more acute than 
mineral sensation ; therefore more delicate. Its 
degrees and qualities aspire in regular order, from 
the root to the moving plant. The polypus unites 
plants to insects. The tube-worm seems to con- 
nect insects with shells and reptiles. The sea- 
eel and the water-serpent connect reptiles with 
fishes. The flying-fish forms the link between 
fishes and birds — -bats associate quadrupeds with 
birds — and the various gradations of monkeys and 
apes fill up the space between quadrupeds and 
men. — Lector. 

Gentle Words and Loving Hearts. — No apology 
need be offered to the readers of our own 
Journal for asking insertion for the following : — 

A young rose in the summer time 

Is beautiful to me, 
And glorious the many stars 

That glimmer on the sea : 
But gentle words and loving hearts, 
• And hands to clasp my own, 
Are better than the fairest flowers 

Or stars that ever shone. 

The sun may warm the grass to life, 

The dew the drooping flower, 
And eyes grow bright and watch the light 

Of autumn's opening hour : 
But words that breathe of tenderness, 

And smiles we know are true, 
Are warmer than the summer time, 

And brighter than the dew. 

It is not much the world can give, 

With all its subtle art, 
And gold and gems are not the things 

To satisfy the heart ; 
But oh, if those who cluster round 

The altar and the hearth, 
Have gentle words and loving smiles, 

How beautiful is earth X S. 

Experiments with the u Sensitive Plant." — 
The Journal de Loiret state?, that Dr. Breton- 
neau, of Tours, has subjected the sensitive plant 
to the influence of chloroform, and that whilst 
under its influence, the leaves were perfectly 
insensible to any touch. The Journal adds, that 
the same experiment was lately tried at Orleans 
on a sensitive plant. One flower having been 
subjected to the action of chloroform, never moved 
when being cut to pieces, whilst another flower on 
the same stem closed up the moment the hand 
came near it. — Eliza D. 

Ranunculuses in Winter. — To have Ranun- 
culuses in bloom in winter, the bulbs are planted, 



in Holland, in the month of August, or later up 
to November, in frames or cool dung beds. If the 
weather prove bad in the autumn, lights are put 
on the frames ; and again, when the temperature 
of the external air will allow, are removed. I saw 
at a nursery in Haarlem, Kauunculuses grown on 
this plan blooming in middle of December. — W. 
Tatter, in the Algemeine Gartenzeitung . 

Oil from Tobacco Seed. — Having been fortunate 
enough to discover that one seed of tobacco contains 
above 15 per cent, of its weight of drying oil, of 
superior quality and of easy extraction, I take 
the liberty of communicating this discovery to you, 
as one which, if published in England, may be of 
great advantage to those of the British colonies 
whore that plant is cultivated. The process 
employed by me for the extraction of the oil is to 
reduce the seed to powder, and knead it into a stiff 
paste with quantum suficit of hot water, and then 
submit it to the action of a strong press. I then 
expose the oil thus obtained to a moderate heat, 
which, by coagulating the vegetable albumen of 
the seed, causes all impurities contained in the oil 
to form a cake at the bottom of the vessel employed, 
leaving the oil perfectly limpid and clear. The oil 
from tobacco-seed, though extremely limpid, pos- 
sesses the drying quality to a much higher degree 
than any other oil known tome — a circumstance 
which will render it of great value to painters and 
varnish makers. The only object 1 have in 
making this discovery known to you, is my desire 
to be of service to my country and fellow-subjects, 
and my not having the means of publishing it 
myself in England. — Alfred Hall-Fredinnick, 
Tehernoy Binokie, near Kisliar. 

Florists' Floiccrs. — Let me tell those of your 
readers who are anxious to raise these interest- 
ing subjects with a view to getting new varieties, 
that they have no chance without saving the seed 
themselves. Let them buy four or six, or even 
a dozen, of the best and most distinct varieties 
in cultivation, and save seeds from them, and 
there will be hope of a few good things ; but who 
that had saved seeds from the best would sell 
them to a seedsman ? It is net likely that, when 
a good novelty will fetch pounds, the owners of 
seed calculated to produce good novelties would 
sell it. The seeds supplied to the shops are 
saved from those varieties which produce freely. 
Single and semi-double dahlias, pinks, carnations, 
piccotees, roses, &c, yield seed in abundance, and 
you might sow an acre without producing a good 
variety ; whereas, if you get none but a few good 
ones, and get but a single pod of seed, you may 
have that which will pay for all the trouble, and 
be worthy of bearing your name. Neville, the 
secretary of the South London Floricultural So- 
ciety, raised the dahlia called the Hope, or Metro- 
politan Eose, for which he was paid £100, and 
had very few seedlings ; yet we were invited to 
see six thousand dahlias, and could not find one 
worth a shilling. — George Glenn y. 

Destructive Insects. — Now is the trying time 
for all who love their gardens. A single night, 
at this season, is oftentimes productive of irrepa- 
rable mischief ; for the enemy works in the dark, 
and hides himself in the day-time. There is 

nothing more annihilating to the hopes of the 
gardener than the latent workings of a destructive 
insect. Cold and heat, wind and rain, with all 
the atmospheric changes for which the seasons 
are now so remarkable, may, in some measure, 
be provided for ; but there is no guarding against 
danger the existence of which is unknown. Many 
a fine plant, which has been cultivated with 
unusual care, has Avithered from this cause ; and 
this, too, at the moment when the development 
of its blossoms, or the perfection of its fruition, 
has been expected with anxiety. In this way 
the carnation and piccotee have perished from 
the secret ravages of the wire-worm, the melon 
and cucumber from that of the red-spider, and the 
rose from the " worm i' the bud." To destroy 
these insects, therefore, becomes the first consi- 
deration of the gardener ; but nothing will answer 
this purpose short of wholesale extermination. 
Though most insects live but one season, yet 
their powers of reproduction almost exceed belief. 
It has been calculated that the common house-fly 
produces, in three months, no fewer than 700.000 
of its species ; whilst the aphis rosa (the rose- 
plant louse), in the course of the season, creates 
at least ten generations, each generation averag- 
ing fifty individuals; so that by multiplying 
fifty-nine times by itself, one egg will give 
origin to the almost incredible number of 
25,065,093,750,000,000,000 ! This, be it remem- 
bered, is but one species, out of twenty-seven, 
which infest the rose-tree alone. But in this re- 
spect, the oak is still more wonderful than the 
rose — naturalists having recorded some hundreds 
of different species as feeding upon a single leaf. 

The flowery leaf 
Wants not its soft inhabitant. Secure, 
Within the winding citadel, the stove 
Holds multitudes. But chief in forest boughs 
That dance unnumbered to the playful breeze, 
The downy orchard, and the melting pulp 
Of mellow fruit, the nameless nations feed 
Of evanescent insects. 

But if the number of insects are calculated to 
excite astonishment, what must we think of their 
minuteness? The red spider is amongst the 
smallest of the genus that infest the garden ; it is 
not easily perceived without the aid of the micros- 
cope, and, on that account, is considered a phe- 
nomenon. But this will appear gigantic when 
compared with an insect we saw a few days ago, 
designated the " wheel animalcule." It was mag- 
nified 25,000 times its natural size, and yet in 
this state was no larger than a common-size grub. 
The most wonderful part of this insect is the con- 
struction of its mouth, which is formed of two 
revolving wheels, continually in motion, but 
moving in opposite direction to each other. With 
this machinery the insect is supposed to procure 
its food, consisting of animalcuUe much smaller 
than itself; these animalcula: again prey upon 
others still more minute ; and these last lead a 
similar existence — and so on, ad infinitum. — E. C. 

Lime Water for Hens. — During the last season, 
Mr. Joseph Wilcox, of Wayne, having occasion 
to administer lime water to a sick horse, inadver- 
tently left a pail of the preparation in his barn, 
which remained there for some time, serving as 



a favorite drink for his hens. He soon found 
that the laying of his hens was increased to a 
considerable extent. Being convinced of the 
importance (to him) of the new discovery, he has 
during the present season kept his hens con- 
stantly supplied with lime water, placed in 
troughs within convenient access, and the result 
is an increase in eggs of nearly four-fold as com- 
pared with previous experience. — "W. 

[We have long adopted this idea, and find the 
result highly satisfactory.] 

Singular Epitaph. — We are told by the Editor 
of the Worcester Herald, that the subjoined is a 
verbatim copy of an epitaph, which appears in the 
parish church-yard of Persey, in Dorsetshire. 
" Here lies the body of Lady C. Looney, great 
niece of Burke, commonly called ' the Sublime.' 
She was hard, passionate, and deeply religious. 
Also, she painted in water-colors, and sent 
several pictures to the exhibition. She was first 

cousin to the Lady Jones, and of such is the 

kingdom of Heaven." — Angelina. 

Tenacity of Woody Fibre. — It is a familiar fact 
that the stems of trees, and of flowering plants in 
general, possess a tenacity not found in the leaves 
and flowers. This tenacity is mainly due to the 
presence of woody tissue, which consists of spindle- 
shaped tubes lying closely together and overlap- 
ping each other at the ends. It is present also in 
the veins of leaves, and especially in the inner 
bark of plants. It is regarded by some as a form 
of cellular tissue, but may at all times be distin- 
guished by its much greater tenacity. This 
quality indeed renders it of considerable impor- 
tance to man ; for it is this tissue, separated from 
the softer tissue of the stem by maceration, which 
forms the fibre of linen, hemp, and many other 
substances which are manufactured into textile 
fabrics. The comparative tenacity of different 
organic fibres, says the Scottish Florist, as as- 
certained by Labillardiere, is as follows. Weights 
being suspended to threads of the same diameter, 
silk supported a weight of 34 ; New Zealand flax 
(Phormium tenax), 23.8; Hemp( Cannabis sativa), 
16^ ; Flax (Linum usitatissimura), llf ; Pita flax 
(Agave Americana), 7. — J t W. T. 

To Keep away the Moth. — I notice an article 
on this subject, by " Arabella" (Vol. III., p. 310). 
Let me tell you of another efficacious remedy for 
getting rid of these plagues — viz., by sewing a 
small portion of the bitter apple (Colycynth, I 
believe) in muslin bags, and placing the latter 
among the various articles which it is wished should 
be protected from the moth. — Muscipula. 

Rapacity of the Sparrow-hawk. — I remark in 
our Jotjrnal( Vol. III., p. 122) a bold adventure of 
a sparrow-hawk, whilst pursuing a blackbird. Two 
very similar occurrences came under my own ob- 
servation a few years ago ; but I forget the precise 
date. In the first instance, I happened to be in 
my dormitory, and one of the windows was open. 
Suddenly a poor sparrow came flying in as fast as 
possible, closely followed by a sparrow-hawk, which 
flew straight through the room into a sitting-room 
adjoining. The latter somehow contrived to get 
entangled in the curtains. He was made prisoner ; 

but afterwards released, with a warning that if 
he repeated his adventure after another unfortunate 
sparrow, it might not fare quite so well with him. 
The next visitor was also in pursuit of a sparrow. 
Both flew in at tho front door, down a long pas- 
sage, and into the kitchen ; where Mr. Hawk went 
with such violence against the window, that he 
smashed it — the glass being scattered some dis- 
tance. The squares of glass, however, being 
rather small, and iron bars coming rather close 
against them outside, he did not succeed in making 
a hole large enough to pass his body through. 
This was of little consequence ; for the violence 
of the blow was such, that his neck was broken. 
He died in a minute or two after he was picked 
up. These occurrences took place near Lau- 
sanne, in Switzerland. In both instances, the 
intended victims were lucky enough to escape. — 
Bombyx Atlas, Tottenham. 

The Crystal Palace, Sydenham. — As the 
" Company " seem to be on their mettle, and re- 
solved to astonish the whole world with their 
Palace of Beauty, L would suggest to them that 
if a terrestrial globe on a monster scale were 
constructed in the grounds, it would tell well with 
the public. It might be done thus : — For the 
general plan, take a map of the world, with the 
two hemispheres. At the base of an excavation, 
let two mounds be raised, giving a correct delinea- 
tion of both. Let the several continents and 
islands be marked out upon them, with their 
shores as near to nature as may be — the seas being 
represented by fine grass, or glass with a pre- 
pared surface. Kocks, &c, might be laid down, 
and lakes and rivers be represented by glass 
formed of undulating and'twisted pieces ; these, 
by suitable machinery, might be kept in constant 
motion. This would give life and effect to the 
whole. Mountains, snow-capped hills, forests of 
trees, &c, could easily be introduced ; and large 
towns marked, giving a leading building (as St. 
Paul's) for London. Being in an excavation, a 
terrace or terraces might be formed on the sur- 
rounding sides, and lectures given explanatory of 
each subject. It would be practicable too, by 
means of machinery, to raise "lines" or frames 
to denote the equatorial and equinoctial lines, the 
degrees, &c. To give increased effect, telescopes 
might be arranged all round ; the use of which 
would considerably enhance the pictorial impor- 
tance of the globe. I merely throw this out as a 
hint by the way. Money seems " no object." I 
do not, however, imagine the cost of what I pro- 
pose would be very considerable. The motto over 
the globe might be — 

" Here may you roam at large, from pole to pole — 
Trace Nature's vast expanse, survey the whole. 
O' er lands remote an easy passage find, 
Secure from danger— and divert the mind." 

I cannot help thinking, that if a small charge only 
were made for entrance, the success of such an 
undertaking could hardly be doubtful. — J. B., 
New Road, Shepherds' Bush. 

[If the " Company" be wise, they will turn 
their attention to many similar devices to instruct 
as well as amuse the public. The site they 
have chosen is a delightful one. Nature and art 
may there be pleasingly associated ; and the 
human mind inducted to a train of thought, 



hitherto quite neglected as a branch of edu- 

The Use of White Wax — If you wish to keep 
certain articles from becoming yellow (such as 
white muslin, white satin, v. hite silk dresses, 
bonnets, shoes, &c), place white it-ax in imme- 
diate contact with them. — Hoxeysuckle. 

Mushrooms. — The greatest caution is requisite 
in selecting any kinds for food ; and it is advisable 
merely to eat the common sort. Wild mush- 
rooms from old pastures are considered more de- 
licate in flavor, and more tender in flesh, than 
those raised in artificial beds. But the young or 
button mushrooms, of the cultivated sort, are 
firmer and better for pickling ; and in using cul- 
tivated mushrooms, there is much less risk of 
poisonous kinds being employed. The following 
is a description of the unsuspected sorts: — lhe 
eatable mushrooms first appear very small, and 
of a round form, on a little stalk ; they grow very 
fast, and the upper part and stalk are white ; as 
the size increases, the under part gradually opens, 
and shows a fringy fur, of a very fine salmon- 
color, which continues more or less till the mush- 
room is a tolerable size, when it turns to a dark 
brown. These marks should be attended to, and 
likewise whether the skin can be easily parted 
from the edges and middle. Those which have 
a white or yellow fur should be carefully avoided. 
The wholesome kinds have a grateful rich scent : 
it is, however, safest not to eat any of the good 
but less common sort until they have been soaked 
in vinegar. — John T., Windsor. 

• • • 

[The " safest" way is, to imagine mushrooms 
to be unwholesome, and never to eat them. We 
never do, although we are particularly fond of 

Lunatics. — Of the influence of the planets aiiti 
the moon — notwithstanding the name of Lunatics, 
and the vulgar impressions — no proof whatever 
exists. Yet physicians of eminence — Mead even 
- — have said, " the ravings of mad people kept lunar 
periods, accompanied by epileptic fits." The moon 
apparently is equally innocent of the thousand 
things ascribed to her. When the paroxysms of 
mad people do occur at the full of the moon, 
Dr. Burrowes inclines to explain the matter 
thus : — " Maniacs are in general light sleepers ; 
therefore, like the dog which bays the moon, and 
many other animals, remarked as being always 
uneasy when it is at the full, they are disturbed 
by the flitting shadows of clouds which are re- 
flected on the earth and surrounding objects. Thus 
the lunatic converts shadows into images of terror, 
and, equally with all ' whom reason lights not,' is 
filled with alarm, and becomes distressed and 
noisy."— E. W. T. 

How to drive away Moles. — Take one pound of 
bean-meal, three ounces of slacked lime in powder, 
half an ounce of powdered verdigris, and four 
ounces of essential oil of lavender. After mixing 
thoroughly the powdery part of this composition, 
incorporate the oil. With a little water, work the 
mixture into a dough. With this form balls the 
size of hazel-nuts ; they will harden after having 
been exposed to the air for twenty-four hours. 

Introduce them twenty or thirty feet apart into 
the moles' runs ; or one ball may be dropped into 
the hole of each mole-hill, taking care to cover it 
up immediately. The smell of these ingredients is 
so offensive to the mole, that he immediately de- 
serts his ground. The mixture is, at the same 
time, a violent poison for moles, rats, and all such 
vermin. — Flore des Serres. 

The Earth an Ocean of Melted Bock. — Pro- 
fessor Silliman mentions the fact, that in boring 
the Artesian wells in Paris, the temperature of the 
earth increased at the rate of one degree for every 
fifty feet towards the centre. Reasoning from 
causes known to exist, he says — " That the whole 
interior portion of the earth, or, at least a great 
part of it, is an ocean of melted rock, agitated by 
violent winds, though I dare not affirm it, is still 
rendered highly probable by the phenomena of vol- 
canoes. The facts connected with their eruption 
have been ascertained and placed beyond a doubt. 
How then are they to be accounted for? The 
theory, prevalent some years since, that they are 
caused by the combustion of immense coal-beds, is 
perfectly puerile, and is entirely abandoned. All 
the coal in the world could not afford fuel enough 
for a single capital exhibition of Vesuvius. We 
must look higher than this ; and I have but little 
doubt that the whole rests on the action of electric 
and galvanic principles which are constantly in 
operation in the earth." — Helen W. 

Botany of " the Camp.'''' — All who go to see 
the camp at Chobham, should be told that the 
following plants are to be met with in tolerable 
numbers, on the common : — Erica tetralix, Poly- 
trichum commune, Narthecium ossifraga, Ranun- 
culus lingua, Blechnum boreale, male and female, 
Galium palustre, Orchis bifolia and maculata, 
Cnicus heterophyllus, Triglochin palustre, Eriopho- 
rum, augustifolium and Lycopodium clavatum. 
There is no doubt that a stricter search would dis- 
cover many other plants ; but neither time nor 
the state of the weather would permit any but a 
cursory examination. The bog in question lies at 
the back of the cavalry quarters, and can be easily 
known by the great abundance of the white spikes 
of the Cotton Grass, which may be seen for a con- 
siderable distance. — Wm. Ilott, Bromley, Kent. 

Bight of Claiming Bees. — You called attention, 
my dear sir, some short time since, to the existing 
practice of " ringing " bees during a swarm ; and 
said that the only benefit resulting therefrom was 
the constituting a "right" to the swarm so 
" rung " for. In connection with this, I observe 
the following in the Oxford Herald, of June 25: — 
" A custom prevails in some places, to the effect 
that bees leaving the hive, and being followed and 
not lost sight of, by the owner or some person on 
his behalf, a tin kettle, frying-pan, or other like 
instrument being beaten to "ring" the bees, may 
be claimed from the person on whose property they 
alight. A short time since, a swarm belonging to 
Mr. Corbutt, at Appleton, left a hive in his garden. 
Miss Corbutt immediately procured a " ringer," 
and followed the bees to a garden occupied by 
Mr. W. Spiers (of the above village). Mr. Spiers 
attempted to make them his own, and accordingly 
proceeded to hive them. Having done so, he set 



his neighbor at defiance ! Mr. Corbutt procured a 
summons from the County Court, to bring the 
question to a decision ; and at the sitting at 
Abingdon, on the 14th inst., before J. B. Parry, 
Esq., Q.C., the plaintiff having proved by the 
evidence of his daughter that the bees had been 
followed and " rung," and not lost sight of from 
the time of their leaving his garden to their 
settling in the garden of Mr. Spiers, — the judge 
decided in favor of the plaintiff." As I always 
rejoice to see any remarks of " Our Editor " pub- 
licly confirmed, need I say how glad I shall be to 
see this in print ? — Violet, Worcester. 

Visit to a Field of Pitcher- Plants. — The Ne- 
penthes grows in Madagascar, in the interior of 
the country, at the distance of three leagues from 
Tamatave, and one and a half from Isathan, in a 
valley half-a-league in length, and a quarter in 
breadth, situated between a small arm of the 
river Hivouline and several lakes, the waters of 
which discharge themselves into the river Tama- 
tave. It is surrounded with hills, covered with 
primeval forests ; and the soil is a blackish sand, 
much like poor heath mould. I discovered this 
valley about six in the morning, and found it 
covered with Nepenthes of the greatest beauty 
and vigorous growth. The largest were nineteen 
inches in height, in bloom, and furnished with a 
great quantity of pitchers ; almost every leaf bore 
one. I remarked that they were all open and 
half-full ; but, about three in the afternoon, I saw 
the covers descend gradually, and by five all the 
pitchers were closed. I tried to open some of 
them, but could not do so without breaking them. 
Desirous to see more of these wonderful plants, I 
resolved to visit them again early the next morn- 
ing, and returned to Isathan for the night, which 
I passed in the house where, in 1804 and 1805, 
died the two unfortunate botanists sent out by the 
French Government — Chapellier and Michaux. 
Returning the next morning at half-past five, I 
saw all the pitchers closed and resting on the 
ground, on account of the quantity of water they 
contained. It was still in vain to try to open 
without tearing them, and those which I did open 
in this manner were quite full. Towards eight 
o'clock the covers began sensibly to rise, and at 
nine all the pitchers were open. I measured the 
quantity of water contained in several, and 
found it about two-thirds of an ordinary glassful. 
This fluid, clear as distilled water, was cool, and 
of an agreeable taste, and was my only drink 
during this day of observation. By three in the 
afternoon, evaporation had exhausted two-thirds 
of the water in the pitchers, which gradually rose 
as they became lighter. The covers began to 
close, and at five were shut, as I had observed the 
previous evening. The people of Madagascar 
hold the Nepenthes in great reverence, and call it 
" copoque." They assured me that it exists in 
no other part of the island, which I can readily 
believe, for I have traversed Madagascar in all 
directions without meeting it elsewhere. — M. 
Breon, in La Belgique Horticole. 

_ The Effect of Fear. — Is it true that the ima- 
gination may be so wrought on, as to make a 
person believe he is gradually dying when he is 
actually in good health ? I have heard some 

curious stories to this effect ; but I have no doubt 
you can set me right as to facts. — Sakah E. 

[What you have heard is quite true. We 
could multiply instances, but it would be irrele- 
vant. Boachet, a French author of the sixteenth 
century, states that the physicians at Montpelier, 
which was then a great school of medicine, had 
every year two criminals — the one living, the 
other dead — delivered to them for dissection. He 
relates that on one occasion they tried what effect 
the mere expectation of death would produce 
upon a subject in perfect health ; and in order to 
this experiment, they told the gentleman (for such 
was his rank) who was placed at their discretion, 
that, as the easiest mode of taking away his life, 
they would employ the means which Seneca had 
chosen for himself, and would, therefore, open his 
veins in warm water. Accordingly they covered 
his face, pinched his feet without lancing them, 
and set them in a foot-bath ; they then spoke to 
each other as if they saw the blood were flowing 
freely, and life departing with it. The man re- 
mained motionless ; and when, after a while, they 
uncovered his face, they found him dead. In 
England, many such effects have been produced. 
There is no doubt that fear, working on the ima- 
gination, will lead to the most fatal results.] 

The Ground-Fish of Bootan. — Mr. J. T. Pear- 
son has communicated to the Asiatic Society of 
Bengal, on the authority of Mr. Russell, of Rang- 
pore, the following account of the Bora Chung, 
a ground-fish of Bootan : — The Bora Chung is a 
thick cylindrical fish, with a body somewhat like 
a pike, but thicker, with a snub-nose ; it is two 
feet long, and weighs about three pounds. The 
color is olive-green, with orange stripes ; the head 
speckled with crimson spots. It is eaten by the na- 
tives of Bootan, and said to be delicious. It is found 
on the borders of the canal Nuddee, which falls into 
the river Dhallah, a branch of which runs into the 
Teestah, at Paharpore. It is not immediately on 
the brink of the water, however, that the fish is 
caught ; but in perfectly dry places, in the middle 
of a grass jungle, sometimes as far as two miles 
from the river. The natives search this jungle 
till they find a hole, about four or five inches in 
diameter ; and into it they insert a stick to guide 
their digging a well, which they do till they come 
to the water ; a little cow-dung is then thrown 
into the water, when the fish rises to the surface. 
Mr. Russell has known them to be from six to 
nineteen feet deep in the earth. Their other 
habits are not less curious. They are invariably 
found in pairs, two in each hole, never more nor 
less. He has seen them go along the ground 
with a serpentine motion, very fast, though the 
natives say they never voluntarily rise above the 
surface. In some places they are very common, 
and live a long time when taken out of the water, 
by being sprinkled over occasionally. One, which 
Mr. Russell thinks is the female, is always 
smaller, and not so bright in color as the other. 
Mr. Pearson saw two of the fish alive. — W. 

The Kingfisher. — This bird is a native of 
Europe, Asia, and Africa. It inhabits the tem- 
perate parts of Russia and Siberia ; in Denmark 
it is rare. It is found in Germany, France, Hol- 
land, Italy, and Greece. On the other two con- 



tinents it is likewise widely dispersed. In this 
countiy it is universally, though nowhere nume- 
rously, diffused. It is a splendid bird, its irides- 
cent colors varying according to the light they 
are seen in, from bright turquoise blue to the 
deepest green in some parts of its plumage, and 
in others the darker colors of copper and gold. 
When dead, however, much of its beauty is gone ; 
and one writer has imagined that even alive it 
has, when perceiving that it is observed, the 
power of dimming the resplendency of its plu- 
mage, as if conscious how marked an object it 
otherwise was ; and I fancy that some idea of 
the sort has before now occurred to myself. In 
Yorkshire, this bird is as frequently to be met 
with as in other parts of the country \ but, 
speaking of the neighborhood of Huddersfield, 
Mr. W. Eddison writes to Mr. Allis— " The de- 
structive plan of snaring them, or catching them 
with birdlime, will shortly place them in the list 
of rare birds ;" and Mr. Richard Leyland, to the 
same, says — " In autumn, an assemblage of them 
in some of the narrow glens or doughs, as they 
are called about Halifax, takes place ; probably 
the river, swollen by the autumnal rains, renders 
the acquisition of their food difficult, and conse- 
quently compels them to seek it in shallow 
water.' ' — Morris's History of British Birds. 

Motion of Plants. — Mr. Robson has given us 
a very interesting account of the movements he 
observed in the scarlet Clathrus, which is here 
transcribed in his own words. It is interesting 
to notice how an unbiassed observer uses the very 
terms to designate the movements of a plant which 
would have been minutely descriptive of those of 
an insect. " At first I was much surprised to 
see a part of the fibres that had got through a 
rupture in the top of the Clathrus, moving like 
the legs of a fly when laid on his back. I then 
touched it with the point of a pin, and was still 
more surprised when I saw it present the ap- 
pearance of a little bundle of worms entangled 
together, the fibres being all alive. I next took 
the little bundle of fibres quite out, and the 
animal motion was then so strong as to turn 
the head half-way round — first one way and 
then another, and two or three times it got out 
of the focus. Almost every fibre had a diffe- 
rent motion, some of them twined round one 
another, and then untwined again ; whilst others 
were bending, extending, coiling, waving, &c. 
The seeds appeared like gunpowder finely granu- 
lated." Instances from other authors abound. An 
Helvetia Inflata, on being touched by me once, 
threw up its seeds in the form of a smoke, which 
arose with an elastic bound, glittering in the 
sunshine like particles of silver. " The Vibrissea 
truncorum, taken from water, and exposed to the 
rays of the sun, though at first smooth, is 
soon covered with white geniculated filaments 
which start from the hymenium, and have an 
oscillating motion." The Tilobolus, of which 
so accurate an account has been given us by the 
great Florentine mycologist, casts — as its name 
imports — its seed into the air. These also escape 
with a strong projectile force from the upper sur- 
face of Pezizas, the anfractuosities of the Morel, 
and from the gills of Agarics. — Treatise on the 
Esculent Funguses of England. 

The Horse-hair Eel. — Sir, — ■ In your Third 
Volume you raised a question, through a corres- 
pondent, as to whether the hairs in a horse's tail 
were gifted with life. The reasons for your cor- 
respondent's inquiry were, I admit, very curious. 
With reference to this same doubt, I have observed 
in an old newspaper the following : In Shakspeare's 
" Antony and Cleopatra," we find a simile made 
use of by the Roman conqueror, who says — 

" Much is breeding, 
Which like the courser's hair hath yet but life, 
And not a serpent's poison." 

Shakspeare here gives utterance in poetry to a 
common error, which is alluded to in Hollinshcd — 
11 A horse-hair laide in a full pale of the like water, 
will in a short time stirre and become a living- 
creature. But sith the certainty of these things 
is rather proved by few." This superstition still 
prevails in many parts of the country ; and well 
we remember the period in our short history, when, 
with a desire as great as that which possessed 
Mr. Cross, we anxiously panted after the produc- 
tion of life. The unfortunate horses, whose tails 
were made to yield of their abundance to satisfy 
our curiosity, had no notion of the honor which 
was intended them. Certain it is, that the hairs 
were extracted with what are called the roots, and 
these, tied into a bundle, were allowed to swim in 
a running stream for the mystic space of nine 
days. We cannot tax our memory with ever having 
produced eels in this manner. The failure of the 
attempt was easily explained, by our not having 
pulled the hairs out properly, and hence the horso 
was subjected to repeated suffering. There is an 
animal called the horse-hair eel, however, which 
we have often seen in running waters, which is 
apparently without the power of locomotion, and 
in every respect resembles a horse-hair. Its color 
is dark brown, approaching to black; without fins, 
and the smallest possible appearance of a head. 
The animal seems to be carried about by every 
eddy in the current where it exists, and but for the 
constant motion of what may be called the tail, 
might easily be mistaken for a horse-hair. A 
recent author mentions this superstition as still 
prevalent in Scotland, and also that the animal is 
common in Inverness-shire. The superstition is 
very likely to have arisen from some mountebank 
wishing to inspire the rustics with a proof of his 
supernatural power, which he could easily do by 
taking the animals from the water when still re- 
taining life. They love the power of motion, which 
is regained by their being again immersed in their 
native element. I have transcribed the above ; and 
send it to you without further comment. Self-exis- 
ting life in the hair of a horse's tail does seem rather 
questionable. — Alexander G., Oxford. 

The late Professor Adrien de Jussieu. — Advices 
from Paris mention the decease of this distinguished 
botanist, upon whom the mantle of his great 
ancestors may be said to have fallen. Among the 
most conscientious and exact of systematical 
writers, he also ranked high as a physiologist, as 
his well-known elementary work has shown the 
world. For many years his health had been 
delicate, and of late had become deplorable. By 
his decease a vacancy occurs in the President's 
chair of the French Institute, in that of Professor 


of Rural Botany in the Jardin cles Plantes (which, 
it is said, will not be filled up), and among the 
20 foreign members of the Horticultural Society 
of London.- — J. L. (in the Gardeners' Chronicle.) 

Boses for Winter-Blooming. — A selection for 
this purpose should be made from the Tea and 
Bourbon families, on their own roots or budded 
very low. Presuming the plants brought from the 
nursery are in the small pots they are generally 
grown in for sale, they should at once be placed 
into those a size larger, carefully and freely watered 
during this and next month, cutting off all the 
flower-buds that may show before September. 
About the middle of the latter month, shorten the 
strongest shoots, and thin out the slender ones, 
turn the plants out of the pots, depriving them of 
some of the soil, and repot in those a good size 
larger, using a compost of turfy loam, sand, and 
manure, in about equal proportions ; they also like 
a little leaf-mould ; put several pieces of broken 
crock in the bottom of the pot, then a portion of 
soil ; place the plant so that its surface roots shall 
just be covered ; and then, filling with the soil, put 
them in a situation partially shaded — water 
sparingly, till they begin to grow — then expose 
them fully to the sun, and water freely every day. 
There they may remain till the middle or end of 
October, when they should be removed to a pit to 
prepare them for flowering. Previous to their re- 
moval, the pots should be washed, and the plants 
neatly tied up. Where charcoal can be had, it 
will be found of great utility in the pot culture 
of roses, broken to the size of nuts, and about one- 
fifth mixed with the soil ; the roots delight to 
ramble through it, and the foliage becomes of a 
richer and darker green ; the surface of the soil 
must have frequent stirrings. The plants must 
be carefully examined, and whenever infested by 
green-fly, the latter should be destroyed by tobacco 
smoke. Roses in pots are wonderfully benefited 
by a watering of manure-water now and then. 
This water is very easily prepared. Let droppings 
from the stable or cow-house be put into a large 
tub or barrel, with water kept over them for a week 
or two, occasionally stirring it up ; the water may 
then be poured or drawn off for use. Guano water 
also makes a good manure. A quarter of a pound 
of guano in three gallons of water, frequently 
stirred before using will be found very nourishing ; 
indeed, one pound to sixteen gallons of water will 
be strong enough to use by the inexperienced, for 
if used much stronger than I have stated it would 
injure plants in pots. In the open ground, any of 
these liquids may be used stronger and rather 
more frequently. — J. H. 

The Chloroforming of Bees. — The quantity of 
chloroform required for an ordinary hive, is the 
sixth part of an ounce ; a very large hive may take 
nearly a quarter of an ounce. My mode of opera- 
tion is as follows : — I set down a table opposite to, 
and about four feet distant from the hive ; on the 
table I spread a thick linen cloth ; in the centre 
of the table I place a small, shallow breakfast plate, 
which I cover with a piece of wire gauze, to prevent 
the bees coming in immediate contact with the chlo- 
roform ; and into this plate I pour the chloroform. 
I now quickly and cautiously lift the hive from the 
board on which it is standing, set it down on the 

top of the table, keeping the plate in the centre ; 
cover the hive closely up with cloths, and in twenty 
minutes or so, the bees are not only sound asleep, 
but, contrary to what I have seen when they are 
suffocated with sulphur, not one is left among the 
combs ; the whole of them are lying helpless on the 
table. You now remove what honey you think fit, 
replacing the hive in its old place ; and the bees, as 
they recover, will return to their domicile. A bright, 
calm, sunny day is the best ; and you should com- 
mence your operations in the morning before many 
of them are abroad. — D. Smith (in the Edinburgh 
Evening Courant). 

On Hatching the Eggs of Spanish and Cochin 
China Fowls. — I have never found any difference 
in the hatching of my Spanish and Cochin China 
eggs, beyond, perhaps, an hour or two. I consider 
it a bad plan to mix different shelled eggs together. 
The Spanish is remarkably thin, and the Cochin 
veiy thick. The young of the latter are longer 
making way through the shell than the former ; 
and when chickens are hatching, unless those that 
appear first are removed immediately, the hen be- 
comes uneasy, and sits hollow. If out of thirteen 
eggs three or four chickens appear first, I always 
remove them and put them in flannel in a basket, 
till all are out. If this be long, I remove the eggs 
that are addled, to pacify the hen ; and put all the 
chickens together under her. — John Baily, Mount 

The New Hackney Carriage Act. — The act for 
the better regulation of metropolitan stage and 
hackney carriages, and for prohibiting the use of ad- 
vertising vehicles, which received the Royal assent 
on the 28th June, consisting of twenty-two clauses, 
came into operation on Monday, the 11th ult., ex- 
cept as therein specially provided. It provides that 
every driver of a hackney carriage (including cabs) 
within the limits of the metropolitan and city 
police district, is required, on each occasion when 
such carriage is hired, to deliver to the hirer a card, 
on which must be printed " Hackney Carriage," 
and the number of the Stamp Office plate, &c. 
When required, a driver is to produce a book of 
fares. After the 1st of October, persons desirous of 
obtaining a license to keep a hackney carriage, &c, 
must make application to the Commissioner of 
Police, who, if the carriage be found fit, shall grant 
a certificate ; no license to be granted by the Board 
of Inland Revenue without such certificate. The 
Commissioners of Police may cause carnages, &c, 
to be inspected ; and, if not in a fit condition, may 
suspend licenses, and recall the Stamp-Office plate ; 
notice of suspension to be given to the Inland 
Revenue. A penalty of £3 per day is imposed for 
the using and hiring of carriages not certified to be 
in a fit condition. The fares are to be Qd. per mile, 
or part of a mile, or 2s, per hour, or part of an 
hour, for carriages drawn by one horse ; and for 
carriages drawn by two horses one third more than 
the above rates. No back fare alloiced; but the 
driver to be entitled to 6d. for every fifteen minutes 
that he shall be required to stop. When more than 
two persons shall be carried inside any hackney 
carriage, one sum of 6d. is to be paid for the whole 
hiring, in addition to the above fares. Two children 
under ten years of age are to be counted as one 
adult person. Lamps are to be provided for omni- 



buses, and to be kept lighted by the conductors. 
Tables of fares to be put up inside and outside 
hackney carriages, and the driver must produce 
a book of fares when required. He is to be com- 
pellable to drive six miles from the place of hiring. 
A reasonable quantity of luggage without any addi- 
tional charge must be carried. The Commissioners 
of Police are to appoint persons to enforce good 
order at hackney carriage stands. Printed bills, &c, 
are not to be put on the outside or inside of hackney 
carriages, so as to obstruct the light or ventilation, 
or cause annoyance to any passengers therein. All 
advertising vehicles are prohibited. Drivers of 
hackney carriages are liable to penalties for offences 
under this act, and the magistrates or justices of 
the peace are empowered to hear and determine 
offences ; and in case of disputes, the hirer may 
require the driver to drive to the nearest police 
court or police station. — W. T. 

Love and Jealousy. — I have just had a little 
confab, Mr. Editor, with a fair disputant, who 
argues that there is no love without jealousy. Just 
give us your thoughts upon that little point — will 
you ? and oblige — A Seeker after Truth. 

[Your handwriting plainly tells us that you are 
of the masculine gender ; and as you are evidently 
" young," we will explain. A person who loves 
truly (and mind, sir, that you form a just estimate 
of what " love" is,) is naturally and properly 
"jealous " over that which is dearer to him (or to 
her) than aught else in the world. He watches 
over it with a protecting eye. It would be sad, 
were it otherwise. Where the treasure is, there 
will the heart be. Two people properly united, 
cannot be im-properly jealous of each other. They 
have so pure an opinion the one of the other — such 
an unceasing, unlimited, generous, ennobling con- 
fidence exists between them, that the "green-eyed 
monster " cannot by possibility find a place in their 

" Goodness thinks no ill, where no ill seems," 

says Milton. For the converse of this proposition, 
see an elaborate answer we gave to a very worthy 
but hen-pecked husband, at page 379, Vol. II. 
of our Journal. Jealousy can only exist in a 
depraved heart. An honest heart never would 
believe anything spoken to the disparagement of 
its " second-self." It would beard the tale-bearer to 
his teeth, and make the party (male or female) slink 
away like a convicted felon. Love and jealousy, 
therefore, should never be named together. If 
anxiety and tenderness were substituted for the 
word "jealousy," tell our fair debater (who we 
apprehend, good sir, is about to throw a silken 
string over your neck), we imagine the question 
will be satisfactorily set at rest. But when jealousy 
partakes of suspicion (they are too often twins, — 
see page 22 of this present Journal) — it becomes 
farcical to use the word " love " at all. Let us 
know, if this solution be deemed "satisfactory."] 

Faith and Friendship. — I think, my Dear Sir, 
you will agree with me (for you appear to have 
fathomed humanity to its very base), that Faith 
and Friendship':* are "seldom truly tried but in ex- 
tremes. To find friends when we have no need of 
them, and to want them when we have, are both 
alike easy and common. In prosperity, who will 

not profess to love a man ? In adversity, how few 
will show that they do it ! When we are happy 
in the spring-tide of abundance, and the rising 
flood of plenty, then the world will be our servants. 
Then do all men flock about us, with bared heads, 
bended bodies, and protesting tongues. But when 
these pleasing waters fall to ebbing, — when wealth 
but shifteth to another strand — then men look upon 
us at a distance, and stiffen themselves, as if they 
were in armour. They try to make us keep aloof, 
by giving us a look that would freeze the blood of 
a Goliath. A good man in trouble is an eyesore 
to the world. In prosperity he is courted, — in 
adversity he is shunned. Misfortune is a crime. 
In a word, adversity is like Penelope's night, which 
" undoes all that ever the day did weave." — One 
of the Old School. 

[You are indeed a man of observation ! We 
cannot differ from you. You talk " like a 

The " Wisest of Trees,"— The Mulberry Tree. 
— The mulberry tree is universally known not to 
put forth its buds and leaves, till the season is so far 
advanced that, in the ordinary course of events, 
there is no inclement weather to be apprehended. 
It has, therefore, been called the " wisest of trees ;" 
and in Heraldry it is adopted as a hieroglyphic of 
wisdom, whose property is to speak and to do all 
things in opportune season. — Heartsease, Hants. 

A Curious Case of Voluntary Suspended Ani- 
mation. — Dr. Cheyne, in one of his medical 
treatises, relates a case of voluntary suspension 
of animation, the accuracy of which is estab- 
lished by an irrefragable combination of evi- 
dence, of a man who could die, to all appearance, 
at any time that he chose ; and after having lain a 
considerable period exactly as a corpse, was able, 
as it should seem, by a voluntaiy struggle, to re- 
store to himself the appearance, and all the 
various functions of animation and intellect. It 
is to be inferred, from the latter part of the story, 
that the unnatural and painful exertion by which 
this person assumed the semblance of disease, pro- 
duced at length a really fatal result. Death 
would be no longer mocked with impunity. The 
counterfeit corpse, a few hours after its revival, 
relapsed into a state which was capable of no 
subsequent resuscitation. The case is so interest- 
ing and remarkable, as to deserve your giving it 
in all the details with which Dr. Cheyne presents 
it to his readers : — " The man could die or expire 
when he pleased ; and yet by an effort, or some- 
how, he could come to life again. He insisted so 
much on our seeing the trial made, that we were at 
last forced to comply. We all three felt his pulse 
first ; it was distinct, though small and thready ; 
and his heart had its usual beating. He com- 
posed himself on his back, and lay in a still pos- 
ture for some time. While I held his right hand, 
Dr. Barnard laid his hand on his heart, and Mr. 
Skrine held a clear looking-glass to his mouth. 
I found his pulse sink gradually, till at last I 
could not feel any by the most exact and nice 
touch. Dr. Barnard could not feel the least 
motion in his heart ; nor could Mr. Skrine per- 
ceive the least sort of breath on the bright mirror 
he held to" his mouth. Then each of us by 
turns examined his arm, heart, breath ; but 



could not, by the nicest scrutiny, discover the 
least symptoms of life in him. We reasoned a 
longtime about this odd appearance as well as we 
could; and, rinding he still continued in that 
condition, we began to conclude that he had in- 
deed carried the experiment too far ; and at last 
we were satisfied that he was actually dead, and 
were just about to leave him. This continued 
about half-an-hour. By nine o'clock in the morn- 
ing, as we were going away, we observed some 
motion about the body ; and upon examination, 
found his pulse, and the motion of his heart, gra- 
dually returning. He began to breathe gently, 
and speak softly. We were all astonished to the 
last degree at this unexpected change ; and after 
some further conversation with him, and with 
ourselves, went away fully satisfied as to all the 
particulars of this fact, but not being able to form 
any rational scheme how to account for it. He 
afterwards called for his attorney, added a codicil 
to his will, and calmly and composedly died about 
five or six o'clock that evening." — This is one of 
those curious facts that occasionally come under 
our notice ; but for which our philosophy is unable 
to assign any reason. — James T., Salisbury. 

New Glove-malting Machine. — A complete re- 
volution is about to take place in the manufacture 
of gloves in France. Two inhabitants of Grenoble 
invented, about the same time, a machine for 
sewing gloves ; but, instead of competing with 
each other, they agreed to unite the advantages 
of each invention. One found means to sew me- 
chanically the fingers of gloves ; while the other, 
after sewing the remainder of the glove, was 
compelled to employ operatives to sew the fingers. 
The inventors, by combining the two machines, 
have produced one which sews gloves perfectly. 
This discovery has produced a great sensation at 
Grenoble, where the manufacturers were not able 
to supply the demand for want of a sufficient 
number of operatives. — W. R. 

Assumed Dislike of Birds to White Fruit. — 
Birds appear to prefer red and purple fruits. 
The White Tartar Cherry, a fine, sweet-flavored 
fruit, is not liable to be injured by them ; while 
other varieties, as May Duke, Bigarreau, &c, 
are constantly exposed to their attacks. The 
white-berried Elder escapes the ravages of the 
blackbirds, even when they have already cleared 
the bushes of the common purple-berried sort, and 
have nothing left but this. The fact is the more 
remarkable, because the white variety is so sweet. 
In the Dresden markets its fruit is sold for 
preserves, for which it is very well adapted. Fruit 
without color has probably the appearance of 
unripeness ; and for this reason the birds refuse 
to try it. — Garten-und-JBlumenzeitung. 

Grass Lawns. — The best and cheapest way to 
treat grass lawns, or banks that are subject to 
crack in dry weather, is — to fill up the cracks 
with any light sandy soil when they are most 
open in dry weather. Afterwards, roll the ground, 
when sufficiently soft just to allow the roller to 
make an impression upon it. But not when it is 
very soft ; for if so, it will cause it to crack 
worse when it again becomes very dry. Perse- 
vere in filling up the cracks. If they are large, 

sow a few grass seeds upon the fresh soil. It 
will then soon become firm, and crack but little 
after the first year. — F. P. 

Parasitical Plants. — That there is a tendency 
in some climbing plants, not properly parasites, 
to become such under certain circumstances, 
there can be no doubt. The Convolvulus 
arvemis has been known to fix its papillae in the 
stems of the plant around which it entwines 
itself; and that portion of the stem dying by 
which connection with its own root was main- 
tained, it thus becomes a parasite. I am not 
aware that a similar phenomenon has ever been 
observed with the ivy. — G. J. 

The House-Fly. — A fly on the wing is no 
less curious an object than one on foot ; yet, when 
do we trouble our heads about it, except as a 
thing which troubles us? The most obvious 
wonder of its flight is its variety of direction, — 
most usually forwards, with its back like a bird ; 
but on occasions backwards, with its back down- 
wards, as when starting from the window, and 
alighting on the ceiling. Marvellous velocity is 
another of its characteristics. By fair comparison 
of sizes, what is the swiftness of a race-horse, 
clearing his mile a minute, to the speed of the fly 
cutting through her third of the same distance 
in the same time ? — A Lover op Nature. 

Cultivation of Water- Cress on Dry Land. — 
It is not generally known that this universally 
esteemed addition to the essentials of the break- 
fast table, for which we are in the habit of paying 
daily pence which, in the course of time, amount 
to a considerable sum, to itinerant vendors — may 
be grown by any one who commands a few yards 
of earth in a situation not fully exposed to the 
sun. A few plants may be procured from any of 
their natural habitats, and placed in the ground, 
where they will soon begin to grow. Of course, 
it is absolutely necessary to keep the new plan- 
tation perfectly shaded for a time ; and if it can 
be always thus kept, all the better. Plentiful 
supplies of water at all times, when rain is not 
abundant, are also essential; but it is a mere 
fancy to suppose that a running stream is wanted. 
The plant may grow better in such a situation — 
probably it doee. But that it is not necessary, I 
have had the fullest proof ; having seen water- 
cresses as luxuriant, or nearly so, as any that could 
be gathered in ditches and brooks, grown on a 
damp, shady border in a kitchen-garden. Per- 
haps they were not quite so tender and delicate, 
but still their quality was such as to leave no 
room for complaint. — Viator. 

The Haddock. — The haddock inhabits northern 
and temperate latitudes. It is found in great 
abundance all round the coasts of Great Britain 
and Ireland. The largest haddocks have been 
taken in the Bay of Dublin and neighborhood. 
In all their migrations, they haunt together in 
immense shoals. They are not uniform in 
frequenting the same spot or locality, but change 
their haunts, not seemingly obeying any deter- 
minate law. This probably proceeds from a 
natural timidity of disposition, for the same cha- 
racteristic is shown in their retreating into deep 



water during stormy or boisterous weather. 
During such seasons, indeed, the haddock conceals 
itself among the sea-weed at considerable depths, 
and it is not then to be taken even with hooks 
baited with its most favorite food ; but it returns 
immediately to its former haunts upon the sub- 
siding of the storm. These habits of the haddock 
sufficiently account for the necessity of keeping it 
in salt-water tanks, in order to supply the demand 
at such seasons, and tbe consequent high prices 
which are then demanded for it in our markets. 
This fish migrates in larger shoals than any other 
of the finny tribe, with the exception of the 
herring, and while in season is procured in great 
quantities. It begins to be in roe in the middle 
of November, and so continues until the end of 
January. During this period it approaches our 
coast in immense shoals to deposit its ova, when 
it is caught by our fishermen. It is consequently 
in best season about the commencement of this 
period. From the beginning of February, when 
its spawning is completed, till the end of May, 
this fish is slender in body, and thin-tailed, and is 
not wholesome as food. From the beginning of 
June till the end of September it retreats into 
deep water, where it gradually recovers its 
strength. The haddock ranges in weight from 1 
to 14 pounds, for it has seldom or ever been 
found of more than the latter weight. The haddock 
caught on the Irish coast is said to be the finest 
in flavor, and is highly appreciated by the 
epicure. — Lector. 

Minuteness of Hatter. — Air can be rarified so 
far, that the contents of a cubic foot shall not 
weigh the tenth part of a grain. If a quantity 
that would fill a space of the hundredth part of an 
inch in diameter be separated from the rest, the 
air can still be found there, and we may reason- 
ably conceive that there are several particles 
present, though the weight is less than the 
seventeendiundredth-million of a grain. — J. T. 

"Masculine" and "Feminine." — The sub- 
joined, from the " Comic English Grammar, is 
smart enough to ask you to register it in Our 
own Journal. There are certain nouns with 
which notions of strength, vigor, and the like 
qualities, are more particularly connected ; and 
these are the neuter substantives which are 
figuratively rendered masculine. On the other 
hand, beauty, amiability, and so forth, are held to 
invest words with a feminine character. Thus 
the sun is said to be masculine, and the moon 
feminine. But for our own part (and our view is 
confirmed by the discoveries of astronomy) we 
believe that the sun is called masculine from his 
supporting and sustaining the moon, and finding 
her the wherewithal to shine away as she does at 
night, when all quiet people are in bed ; and from 
his being obliged to keep such a family of stars 
besides. The moon, we think, is accounted 
feminine, because she is thus maintained and 
kept up in her splendor, like a fine lady, by her 
husband, the sun. Furthermore, the moon is 
continually changing, on which account alone she 
might be referred to the feminine gender. The 
earth is feminine, tricked out as she is with gems 
and flowers. Cities and towns are likewise 
ieminine because there are as many windings, 

turnings, and with odd corners in them, as there 
are in the female mind. A ship is feminine, 
inasmuch as she is blown about by every wind. 
Virtue is feminine by courtesy. Fortune and 
misfortune, like mother and daughter, are both 
feminine. The Church is feminine, because she 
is married to the State ; or married to the State, 
because she is feminine — we do not know which. 
Time is masculine, because he is so trifled with 
by the ladies. — There are some funny truths 
herein, Mr. Editor ; and you know, as well as I 
do, that one must laugh, sometimes ! — Walter, 

[Walter ! you really are — a wag !] 

Instinct of the /Swallow. — Five years ago, I 
noticed that a pair of these birds built their nest 
in an out-house attached to my premises, in which 
they reared two broods. I little expected, when 
autumn came, and they winged their flight to sun- 
nier lands, that I should ever see them again ; but 
the following spring they reappeared, repaired their 
old nest, and again produced two broods. The 
same has occurred every succeeding year ; and they 
are at the present time in their old domicile. I 
confess that I am not very conversant with the 
branch of natural history to which these cheerful 
and active little twitterers belong ; but it strikes 
me that this is an instance of remarkable instinct, 
if they are the same pair of birds ; and which I 
should presume they are, by their coming each 
year to .the same place. — F. W., Heath House, 

[Swallows, Nightingales, and Blackcaps, invari- 
ably return to their old quarters, year after year. 
They never cease to think of those spots where 
they have dwelt in peace and seclusion. We have 
had oft-repeated opportunities of verifying this 
most pleasing fact. The only danger they run, is 
from those indefinably base miscreants, the bird- 
trappers. These inhuman wretches have been 
more than usually busy during the present season. 
They have scarcely left us' any birds to listen to, 
round London. We must seek them in the coverts, 
and the well-wooded preserves, if we would enjoy 
their harmony.] 

Love of Flowers. — In all countries, women love 
flowers. In all countries they form nosegays of 
them. But it is only in the bosom of plenty, that 
they conceive the idea of embellishing their dwell- 
ings with them. The cultivation of flowers among 
the peasantry, indicates a revolution in all their 
feelings. It is a delicate pleasure which makes its 
way through coarse organs. It is a creature whose 
eyes are opened. It is a sense of the beautiful, a 
faculty of the soul which is awakened. Colors, 
forms, odors, are perceived for the first time ; and 
these charming objects have at last spectators. 
Those who have travelled in the country, can tes- 
tify that a rose tree under the window, or a honey- 
suckle around the door of a cottage, is a good omen 
to a weary traveller. The hand that cultivates 
flowers is not closed against the supplications of 
the poor, nor against the wants of the stranger. 
Flowers may be called the alphabet of angels, 
wherewith they write on hills and plains mysterious 
truths. — Heartsease, Hants* 

[This remark of yours, pleases us vastly, gentle 
Heartsease. We quite agree with you, — that 

people who love flowers, and who take pleasure in 
beholding the works of Nature, cannot be hard- 
hearted. We sincerely hope that the " good time 
is coming," when fine feelings will not be arrogated 
by any particular class of society, but be common 
to all] 

A Word for "the Poor Ass." — Just now, my 
clear Sir, when countless thousands are poured 
out to enjoy themselves, all over the country, let 
me put in a word for that most ill-used animal, the 
donkey. Whilst I am writing, scores of these 
poor, wretched animals, are suffering a martyrdom 
at Gravesend, Margate, Hampstead, &c. Bent 
nearly double by blows from a bludgeon, to gratify, 
I am sorry to say, the penchant of well-dressed 
women and girls, who consider it " good fun" to 
see the animals wince — they lead a life of all but 
unceasing torture. The subjoined, by your own 
favorite poet, Clare, will just now be quite "in 
season." May it have some effect! — 
Look at that ill-used Ass ! 
Poor patient creature ! how I grieve to see 

Thy wants so ill-supplied — to see thee strain 

And stretch thy tether for the grass in vain, 
Which Heaven's rain nourishes for all but thee. 

The fair green field, the fulness of the plain, 
Add to thy hunger. Colt and heifer pass, 
And roll, as though they mocked thee on the grass, 

Which would be luxury to the bare brown lane 
Where thou'rt imprisoned — humble, patient Ass ! 

Cropping foul weeds, yet scorning to complain. 
Mercy at first " sent out the wild ass free," 

A ranger " of the mountains ; " and what crimes 
Did thy progenitors, that thou should'st be 

The slave and mockery oe later times ? 

That must be a hard heart, which could look 
quietly on, and never use one word of remon- 
strance whilst witnessing the heavy blows which 
daily fall on these poor animals ! — Puss. 

[We gladly insert your remarks, Puss-y, which 
do you honor ; and we sincerely hope they will 
effect some good.] 

Umbrellas and Sticks. — Well done, Mr. Editor ! 
That article of yours, upon " Ladies and their 
Parasols," was capital. It came home so to every 
body's observation ! It has been copied into nearly 
every newspaper in the provinces. But why do 
you not have a rap at the old fellows and young 
fellows, who go about flourishing their umbrellas 
and sticks in the public streets ? Placed under 
their left arm, and projecting fearfully behind 
(whilst their owners stand at this season lounging 
at the corners of our public streets), these instru- 
ments scatter danger far and near. Nor are they 
less dangerous when introduced in omnibuses ; 
for they fly off at a tangent from one end of the 
vehicle to the other, to deal out a blow on the 
conductor's arm — punishing, in transitu, the nose 
or cheek of whoever may happen to sit out of the 
even line. Our rising youth, and our peripa- 
tetic old fogeys, deserve chastisement quite as 
much as our "flourishing women." I wish 
parasols, umbrellas, and sticks, were contraband. 
At all events, it is no more than right that people 
who use them should be well " drilled" before 
being let loose upon the public. To escape muti- 
lation, it is requisite (as you say), whilst travel- 
ling in a public vehicle, to cover your face with 

both hands. A scratched face, I hardly peed tell 
you, often leads to very unjust suspicions. — A 
Fellow Sufferer. 

Table-moving, Table-turning &c — In connec- 
tion with this silly tom-foolery, in which all kinds 
of men have taken a prominent part, I send you 
some curious remarks that appear in the Lea- 
der, a paper which very properly demolishes _ all 
the crazy theories of the day, as they arise. 
" Table-moving," says the Editor, " is still active, 
though Faraday's authority has cowed the ma- 
jority. No delusion can fairly be dissipated, so 
long as people 'believe what they see,' and 
' fancy ' they see, when in truth they infer. We 
were much amused last week by this example 
of ' evidence of the senses.' Walking down the 
Strand in company with a friend, we were both 
surprised at seeing in a bookseller's window Bleak 
House lying open in the unmistakeable shape of 
a thick octavo volume. Our knowledge that 
Bleak House was not yet complete, and therefore 
could only be seen in numbers, not in volumes, 
made us doubt the evidence of our senses. We 
looked again and again. There was the volume 
evident enough, unmistakeable ! What could it 
be ? It turned out to be the last number of that 
work laid open on an octavo volume ; but so nicely 
adjusted, that the two seemed one ! We both 
laughed at this deception of the senses, and agreed 
that had not our previous knowledge corrected 
the report of the senses, we should have been will- 
ing to swear we had seen in a bookseller's window 
Bleak House bound in one volume. Had we said 
so to any one, knowing that such a thing was 
unlikely, should we not have considered him hyper- 
critical in replying, ' No, my friends, you saw 
nothing of the kind ; but from certain impressions 
made upon your retina, you inferred that a volume 
of Bleak House was before you ?' " — Just so are we 
deceived by a conjuror, or juggler. Monsieur Kobin 
did things far more wonderful than this turning 
of the tables. So great is the power (as you have 
before observed) of" the imagination ! " — Lynx. 

[What with Table-moving and Spirit-rapping, 
we bid fair to rival America in insanity and folly. 
We have lately been to a Spirit-rapping Soiree. 
The lady medium however (a woman of a superior 
presence), was so polite to us, that we really shall 
not attempt to run her down : and as she made 
no " charge," we shall simply continue to laugh 
It is a clever trick to see once.] 


" Our Journal" and the Booksellers. — It is to 
be regretted, my dear sir, that you cannot pre- 
vail upon the country booksellers to keep (even 
though it were never so small) a supply of our 
Journal on their shelves. If six copies be re- 
quired by " subscribers," they procure six from 
London, and no more ; so that it is in vain to try 
to procure either an extra monthly part, or a 
half-yearly volume. They do say — " they will 
get it." But this involves very much delay. 
Can you not appoint " agents" in the principal 
towns of England? — John L., Manchester. 

["Agents," sir, are worse than useless. We 
have tried the system, and it has failed signally. 
Instead of receiving benefit from them, they do 
us — strange as it may appear — far more harm 
than good. Besides, they will never come to any 



settlement with us. We have actually been 
obliged to " present" one of our Dublin agents 
with the copies he has had from us ! He 
will answer no letters, he will render no state- 
ment of account. This has quite sickened 
us. We have therefore made sundry sacrifices, 
and so put an end to this mode of doing 
business. I; We have now many friends and 
readers among the three learned professions. The 
influence of these (the clergy in particular), among 
their connections, is considerable; and we have 
determined manfully to ask their co-operation. 
The continuance of our Journal in the land of 
the living, rests entirely in their hands. Our 
exchequer (we have never concealed the fact), is 
unequal to do battle against the hosts of little 
difficulties that beset us. There is no doubt that 
all the Journal now requires is — extended pub- 
licity ; and if our good friends will assist us in 
this matter, we have no fear whatever of break- 
ing down on the road. However, be it as it may, 
our final determination is recorded at page 9 of 
the present number of the Journal. " Necessity 
knows no law."] 

What is the cause of a distinctly-heard JEcho? 
— In many parts of England, Mr. Editor, and 
in the vicinity of London in particular, certain 
remarkable echoes are to be heard. Can }ou at 
all explain 7iow?they are so "perfectly" produced? 
It puzzles me not a little ; the more so, as in 
several instances no rational cause appears 
assignable. — Helen W. 

[You are not the only person, fair maiden, to 
whom these matters are a puzzle. Only last 
week, whilst we were accompanying the "Thames 
Conservancy Association" in their Excursion up 
the river — a rich treat that! we were sadly puzzled 
to account for a most beautiful and singularly -har- 
monious echo, produced in a certain spot be- 
tween Putney and Hammersmith bridges (on the 
Middlesex shore). There was, of course, a first- 
rate musical band on board. One of the gentle- 
men musicians (let us call him " Sir Cornet-a- 
Piston",) stood on mid-deck, and discoursed on 
his instrument music worthy of the spheres. The 
shore took up " the refrain," and sent back the 
melody with even an increased sweetness to the 
ravished ear.* There was a loving contest be- 
tween land and water to keep the heart in tune. 
The strains, even yet, float on our memory ; and 
we feel as if we were still gliding along that 
silver stream, the margin of which was illumined 
by the golden rays of our attendant sun — glorious 
in the mightiness of his great power. Amongst 
all the party — a large one, no individual present 
could explain what produced so perfect an embodi- 
ment of reverberating sound (for such it must be), 
nor how so large a volume of music could be so 
truthfully reported, and come home so " natu- 
rally" to everybody's bosom. Can any of our 
readers solve this riddle ?] 

Perfumery. — The prevailing penchant among 
women for rendering their persons " attractive " 
by means of scent, is too well known to admit of 
dispute. Whether this be strictly natural, or 

* We should mention the fact, of this particu- 
lar spot being " noted" for producing an echo. 

desirable, or needful,- — it is not my province to 
inquire, Mr. Editor. I merely state the " extra- 
ordinary fact." This hereditary weakness among 
the fair sex, has created an enormous trade among 
the growers of flowers ;both here and abroad. Some 
idea of the importance of perfumery as an article 
of commerce, may be formed when I state, that 
one of the large perfumers of Grasse, in France, 
employs annually, 80,000 lbs. of orange blossoms, 
60,000 lbs of cassie flowers, 54,000 lbs. of rose 
leaves, 32,000 lbs. of jasmin blossoms, 35,000 lbs. 
of violet flowers, 20,000 lbs. of tuberoses, 16,000 lbs. 
of lilac flowers — besides rosemary, mint, lavender, 
thyme, lemon, orange, and other odorous plants, 
in like proportion. Flowers yield perfumes in all 
climates, but those growing in the warmer latitudes 
are, it seems, the most prolific in their odor, while 
those from the colder are the sweetest. Though 
many of the finest perfumes come from the East 
Indies, Ceylon, Mexico, and Peni, the south of 
Europe is the only real garden of utility to the per- 
fumer. Grasse and Nice are the principal seats of 
the art. From their geographical position, the 
grower (within comparatively short distances) has 
at command that change of climate most applicable 
to bring to perfection the plants required for his 
trade. On the sea-coast, his cassie grows without 
fear of frost ; one night of which would destroy 
all the plants for a season. While, nearer the Alps, 
his violets are found sweeter than if grown in the 
warmer situations, where the orange tree and mig- 
nonette bloom to perfection. England, however, 
can claim the superiority in the growth of lavender 
and peppermint ; the essential oils extracted from 
these plants grown at Mitcham in Surrey, realise 
eight times the price in the market of those pro- 
duced in France or elsewhere, and are fully worth 
the difference for delicacy of odor. All our English 
perfumers, be it observed, are wealthy men. A few 
years suffice for the realisation of a princely for- 
tune. Well may our ladies be designated " sweet " 
creatures, when so many millions of flowers annu- 
ally contribute to their sweetness ! — Walter, 

[Walter ! we glory in having you for our ally. 


The March of Intellect. — I have just seen a para- 
graph in the Leeds Times, which records such a 
curious novelty in the matter of bats and petticoats, 
that I conceive it worthy a place in our own Jour- 
nal. The women, it seems, will not be " fem- 
inine" any longer. They like our " habits " better 
than their own ! But judge for yourself. The 
paragraph runs thus : — " A game of cricket, ex- 
clusively played by females (married against un- 
married), came off on Friday week, at the village 
of Wales, near Rotheiham ! The extraordinary 
spectacle created quite a sensation , consequently 
there was a numerous concourse of spectators. 
The players wore Bloomer hats, trimmed with pink 
and blue, and decorated with rosettes of various 
kinds. The result of the game was as follows : — 
Married, 21 and 15 ; unmarried 12 and 18." — After 
this, Mr. Editor, we may look for female rowing- 
clubs, female pigeon-clubs, &c. &c. Women now- 
a-days seem quite disgusted with the quiet scenes 
peculiar to domestic life. Where will this end ? — 
Argus, Oxford. 

[You have put a question, sir, that we are quite 
unable to answer.] 





How pook, how rich, how abject, how august, 
How complicate, how wonderful, is Man ! 
How passing wonder He who made him such ! 

Wisdom ! thou gift of God, thou thing Divine, 
Convert my humble soul into thy shrine ! 

F. Osborne. 


and marvellous, are the 
many objects that pass under 
our eye from day to day ; 
whether we regard the animal, 
vegetable, or mineral worlds. 
Turn where we may, a new 
wonder awaits us. The finger 
of God is above us, below us ; on our right 
and on our left. This remark holds good 
throughout the year, — but at this lovely 
season in particular. 

One would reasonably imagine that the study 
of such wonderful objects would be universal 
— at all events among people who have been 
what is called liberally educated ; and that 
their lives would be spent in the happy pur- 
suit of knowledge that would fill their minds 
with surprise, wonder, adoration, and praise. 
But no ! These pursuits are, strange to say, 
comparatively neglected. Until very recently 
it was deemed quite unfashionable, — nay vul- 
gar, for people of taste to acknowledge any 
intimate acquaintance with the structure of 
plants or the habits of animals. They called 
each plant and each animal by its assigned 
name, and cared not to inquire further, — 
deeming all such common-place observations 
the duty of a gardener, florist, and professed 
ornithologist. In fact, there was no love felt 
either towards the plant or the bird. The 
one was an ornament to the room, and the 
other a lively companion. These degrading 
feelings are even yet but too common in 
so-called refined society, as everybody is but 
too well aware. This is a delicate subject, 
perhaps, to handle ; but we are a great advo- 
cate for probing every wound, and tracing it 
to its source. 

This most singular indifference to the works 
of the great Creator, and to our progress in 
civilisation, was extraordinarily apparent at 
the late " Great Exhibition of all Nations." 
Instead of finding the higher classes busily 
engaged here, in examining the wonderful 
machinery by means of which the elegancies 
of life are supplied; and gazing on the won- 
drous contributions sent in from all parts 
of the world, — we found them invariably 
parading about the building as creatures of 
fashion — listlessly and indifferently saunter- 
ing through the rooms as a work of formal 
every-day duty ; and glad to repair to the 
Refectory, to solace themselves with ice and 

other delicacies.* We could not but mark 
the difference between the fashionables and 
the inquiring multitude. How the former 
yawned, and frittered away their time — whilst 
the latter availed themselves of each passing 
moment to see everything that was to be seen, 
and were unceasing in asking questions. May 
the time quickly arrive when the acquisition 
of the useful knowledge we have been hinting 
at may not be considered vulgar, and when 
all the works of our Creator may be thought 
worthy of investigation ! 

The theme to which we are anxious to 
direct the present attention of our readers, 
is the wonderful construction of the human 
body. We touched upon this in our First 
Volume (p. 133), and pointed out the great 
dangers arising from the want of a due con- 
sideration and proper knowledge of our struc- 
ture and organisation. However indifferent 
people may show themselves to other proofs 
of their Creator's power and goodness ; in 
this matter, to be ignorant is to be guilty of 
a great offence. 

We have no wish to-day, to speak of the 
reciprocal influence of the soul upon the body, 
and the body upon the soul; — wonderful 
though this sweet influence be. There is a 
wisdom displayed herein, which we cannot 
properly fathom. Indeed, the result of our 
profoundest investigations into the exquisite 
union existing between body and soul, can- 
not end in anything but admiration and 
astonishment. We may feel what we cannot 
express. We may be lost in praise, when 
our thoughts are denied the power of utter- 

But we may lawfully and profitably con- 
sider the structure of our frame. A most 
convenient opportunity now offers for this, 
by the return of Dr. Kahn from the pro- 
vinces. This gentleman has just re-opened 
his grand Anatomical Museum at the 
Portland Gallery, Eegent Street, and we 
observe that he has made some valuable 
additions to his already large collection of 
objects. Our readers will remember that we 
noticed this most useful Exhibition (if we 
may so term it) in our First Volume (see p. 
134), — directing special attention to it, and 
requesting fathers, brothers, and mothers to 
pay it an early visit. 

This we urge upon them now, more than 
ever. They may learn more, here, in the 
course of six hours, than they might per- 

* This was commented on, at much length, and 
very piquantly, by our contemporaries, — the Times 
in particular. The " butterflies of fashion," they 
remarked, who selected for themselves the pro- 
minent seats in the building, to " show off on," re- 
ceived an intelligible hint by the removal of these 
seats to more private recesses, — this compelling 
them to keep moving "if they wanted to be seen." 
Such was the fact. — Ed. K. J. 

Vol. IV.— 5. 



haps ever learn, otherwise, in the course of 
a long life. They are shown what Man is 
from his early infancy; — how formed, how 
protected by the ever vigilant, kind, loving- 
hand of God, who foresaw what must befall 
him in this lower world, and who provided 
accordingly. The heart which could enter 
these spacious rooms, and look with a philo- 
sophic eye on their contents without a feel- 
ing of gratitude, adoration, and praise (to 
say nothing of wonder, admiration, fear, and 
intense thougbtf illness), must be harder than 
a millstone — unworthy a place in the human 
breast. We consider the opening of this 
Exhibition a national benefit. 

Nor are these humanising objects, these 
startling facts connected with the enjoyment 
of our very being, kept from the eye of 
women. No! For their use and instruction 
in particular are very many objects prepared, 
which (there must be no fastidiousness in 
such matters) it is a positive duty for them 
to view in all their details. Mrs. Leach (on 
certain days in the week) kindly explains 
these ; and, with a feeling which does her 
infinite honor, rarely fails to impress upon the 
female mind the immense importance of the 
object which these models were made to 
point out. Dr. Leach is equally eloquent in 
his explanations and lectures to gentlemen 
visitors. We are glad always to find in the 
rooms a goodly number of these ; and to 
note how, for the most part, they carefully 
examine the amiable mysteries of nature — 
complex yet simple. 

Some people wonder at the bodily defor- 
mity that exists amongst us. They are 
surprised when they behold so many mis- 
shapen legs, heads, and bodies. They marvel 
at the serious amount of illness that prevails 
amongst us. Let such people pay a visit to 
Dr. Kahn's Museum, and their wonder will 
cease. Habited as our women ever have 
been, worshipping that heathen god — " Fas- 
hion," as they still do, their offspring must 
he unhealthy. Deformity, too, the natural 
consequence of tight -lacing, is entirely at- 
tributable to them ; as well as the long, fear- 
ful catalogue of other ailments to which we 
are all in turn subjected. These are " facts" 
— proved in Dr. Kahn's rooms beyond the 
power of contradiction. Is our pen then to 
be blamed for its honesty in thrusting so 
remorselessly at the hydra — Fashion ? 

We may just add to these remarks, that 
among the models exhibited is one (the size 
of life) of a human body. This is, within 
and without, an exact copy from life. The 
veins, muscles, arteries, &c, are all shown. 
The lungs, heart, liver, and every other part 
of the internal frame, are moveable. They 
are taken out by the lecturer, systematically, 
one by one, and their uses and action are 
minutely explained. This alone is worth a 

visit. It is a sight which everybody ought 
to see — everybody ought to ponder upon. 
No words of ours can give more than an idea 
of its nature or importance. 

Well might the Sweet Singer of Israel ex- 
claim, in the fulness of his holy admiration — 
" I will praise Thee, O God, for I am fear- 


Affection is the Deity's best gift — 

The brightest star that glitters in His crown, 

And flashes its refulgence to the earth. 

Ann S. Stevens. 


nature ; and we dearly love to trace her 
operations in those who are a few degrees 
removed from the sphere in which our own 
lot is cast. We have many opportunities 
for this ; and we delight to breathe in such 
a wholesome atmosphere. 

We are glad to note a similar feeling in 
a brother Editor residing in America, who 
thus writes in the United States Gazette : — 

Amusing incidents often occur by persons 
mistaking the letter-box of stores and offices 
in this vicinity, for that of the post-office. 
We sometimes find three or four letters in 
our own letter-box, intended for the mails. 
These we, of course, put on their way. 

Standing once at our front window, we 
observed a young woman whose face was not 
visible to us, drop a letter into our box ; and 
on taking it out, we found that she had mis- 
taken our establishment for that of a post- 
office. It was directed to Thomas , in 

Ireland, and the inland postage accompanied 
it. The letter we caused to be sent with 
some others to the post-office, and gave the 
circumstance no further thought. 

Busied some months afterwards in examin- 
ing the contents of our exchange papers, and 
inditing such paragraphs as they suggested 
to us, we did not pay much attention to a 
gentle rap at the door of our private room, 
until it was repeated. We then, too anxious 
to conclude our labors to open to the appli- 
cant, bade the one that knocked " come in," 
and continued our labors without lifting an 
eye to the door, which was opened quietly, 
and as quietly closed. We were startled at 
length with a sweetly modulated voice, 
inquiring — " Is there a letter here for me?" 

We at once raised our eyes, and saw a 
female about eighteen years of age — or, as 
we have of late lost the art of judging closely 
in these matters, perhaps twenty. It did 
not make a dimple's difference to her face, 
and would not, if five more years had been 
added to them. There was an oval face, 
with nature's blush, and a slight projection 
of the mouth that told of Ireland, even 
without the softened modulation of voice 



that belongs to the women of that island. 
Neatness was all that could be ascribed to 
her dress — it deserved that. 

Letters are frequently asked for in a 
newspaper-office, in reply to advertisements 
— so we bade the young woman go to the 
front office and inquire of the clerks. 

She had been there, and there was no one 
but a boy, who could not give her the infor- 

So we inquired the name. 

" Kitty M'Innes ; but perhaps it will be 
Catherine on the letter," said she, " as that 
is my name." 

We looked on the letter -rack in the front 
office, among the "A. B.'s," the " X. W.'s," 
the "P. Q.'s," etc., but saw none for 

Returning, we inquired to what advertise- 
ment the letter was to be an answer. 

" Advertisement ! — to no advertisement- 
it would be in answer to my letter." 

" And from whom did you expect a 

The young woman looked much confused 
— but apparently considering the question 
pertinent, she said, " From Thomas ." 

W^e saw at once that she had, as hundreds 
before had done, mistaken our office for the 
post-office, and the name given was that upon 
the letter which we had some months before 
sent from our letter-box to that of the post- 

" He has not written, then," said Catherine, 
in a low voice, evidently not intended for our 

" But he may have written." 

''Then where's the letter?" said she, 
looking up. 

"At the post-office, perhaps." 

And we took Catherine by the hand, and 
led her to the door, and pointed out the 
way to the post-office. 

" You will ask at the window," said we ; 
" but as the clerks are young men, you need 
not tell them from whom you expect the 

"Not for the world," said she, looking 
into our face with a glance that seemed to 
say there was no harm in telling us. 

We must have used less than our usual 
precision in directing Catherine to the post- 
office, as quite half -an-hour afterwards, when 
visiting the place, we saw her at the window, 
receiving the change and a letter from one 
of the clerks ; and the impatience — shall we 
say of woman, or of love? — induced Catherine 
to break the seal at the door. A glow of 
pleasure was on the cheek of the happy girl. 
We would not have given a penny to be 
informed that Thomas was well, and was 
coming in the next packet. We felt anxious 
to know whether Thomas would come, but 
the names of such persons rarely appear 

among the passengers of the Liverpool 
packets, being commonly included in that 
comprehensive line, " and two hundred in the 

So we gave up all hopes of knowing when 
Thomas would arrive, but concluded that we 
should see the name with that of Catherine 
in the marriage list, to which we had deter- 
mined to keep a steady look. * * 

It was but a short time afterwards, that 
we did indeed see the name of Thomas in 
the papers. He was one of the passengers 
in a ship cast away below New York, of 
whom nearly every soul perished, and 
Thomas among the rest. 

We had never seen Thomas, but had some- 
how cherished such an interest in his fate, 
that we felt a severe shock at its annuncia- 
tion ; and what must have been the feelings 
of Catherine, with her ardent, sanguine, 
Irish temperament ? Loving deeply as she 
must have loved, and hoping ardently as she 
must have hoped, what must have been her 
feelings ? 

We paused, a few weeks afterwards, to 
mark the young grass shooting, green and 
thick, in Ronaldson's grave yard ; and to see 
the buds swelling on the branches of the 
trees that decorate that populous city of the 
dead ; when a funeral, numerously attended, 
wound slowly round the corner of the street, 
and passed into the enclosure. It was the 
funeral of an Irish person — we knew by the 
numbers that attended, and as the sexton 
lowered ,the coffin down into the narrow 
house, the place appointed for all the living, 
we saw engraved upon a simple plate, — 
Catherine M'Innes. 

The small sum of money which Catherine 
had deposited in the savings' fund, to give a 
little consequence to her marriage festival, 
had been withdrawn to give her " decent 

There is a spice of this fine feeling among 
our English girls of low degree. We do 
not say it is universal, — far from it. But we 
can vouch that it does exist, having often- 
times proved it. 

True love, in the intenseness of its purity, 
is indeed a Heavenly gift ! 


If we want any extra "inducement" to become 
good, do we not find that inducement in everything 
we at this present time behold in the fields and 
lovely lanes, which are clothed in garments of sur- 
passing beauty? Every animal, every insect that 
crosses our path, looks, and is " happy." The 
golden grain waves its lovely locks with the most 
fascinating elegance, and seems to give " a hint " 
to its fair beholders to " take a lesson from its 
book." The Book of Nature is the only book, it 
would appear, that our ladies do not read. Why 
should they not begin this very day to turn over 
the first leaf? 





Give me the liome where the sun's gentle beams 
Peep through my lattice, when springtide is 

Or, with the summer, reflect on the streams 
A glimpse of its bright happy home in the sky. 

I sigh not for Power, nor languish for Wealth, 
I covet not Greatness, whate'er its degree ; 

The blessing of peace, with the gay bloom of health, 
And the smile of contentment are dearer to me. 

My jewels I'll seek where the vi'let and rose, 
Half-hid in their moss bed, waft fragrance 
around ; 

Where bright crystal dew-drops on lilies repose, 
And gay star-like daisies bespangle the ground. 

The music that cheers and enlivens the vale 
Shall chase away sorrow and care from my 
breast ; 

My heart shall respond to the dove's plaintive tale, 
And the voice of" the nightingale lull me to rest. 

With kind friends to love me, and hope to beguile 
The dark days of life, which we cannot control, 

Oh ! let my reward be affection's bright smile — 
For Love sweetens labor, and Joy cheers the soul. 



The sure way to " settle " a crocodile,, according to 
ancient practice, was to confront him with a mirror, — 
when he incontinently died of fright at his own 


We have no wish to compare all that 
our heart holds dear to a crocodile. No ! 
But we would fain compare the modern 
attire worn by all whom our heart holds dear, 
to that hideous animal. Oh, if we could but 
get the wearers to reflect ; and to gaze more- 
over on their reflection, as seen in a mirror — 
would not our joy be complete I One glance 
would suffice. A second would not be politic ; 
for we verily believe that the fair beholder of 
her deformed person would, by taking "a 
second sight," incontinently die of fright. 
This is a humane view of the innate (though 
as yet undeveloped) good taste of the sex 
called gentle. 

We are not to-day going over the ground 
we have so often before trodden. Our ex- 
pressed sentiments about " natural habits " 
are too well known to render this necessary. 
Nor are we again about to inveigh against 
those Satanic inventions — modern fashionable 
bonnets. They suit the wearers ; and if they 
do not blush, thus arrayed, why should we? 
Modesty has fled the land. Our present object 
is — to enter a very strong protest against the 
prevailing fashion in ladies' hair. Arranged 
as it now is by one universal, abhorrent law, 
" taste " is out of the question. The severity 

of " Fashion's " dictates in this matter, ought 
to be stoutly resisted by every pretty face. 
It is an outrage on nature, an insult to the 
human face divine. Beauty should be re- 
spected — not annihilated.* 

When we were a boy, things were widely 
different. A charming face used to be 
" naturally " set off by free, flowing rows of 
clustering curls, which hung so lovingly clown 
an innocent cheek (cheeks, alas ! now-a-days, 
are not " innocent ") — that they held "us 
pleasingly spell-bound. Oh! those enchant- 
ing ringlets, and the fascinating endearments 
of their pretty, modest owners ! 

The human figure, too, was then respected. 
Our hearts were fairly captivated by the true 
'' line of beauty.'' Women seemed to be 
aware, in those happy days, that they were 
gifted with lovely forms ; and they delighted 
in letting us see them in their pure, innocent 
development. We could get near them then; 
converse with them ; make much of them ; 
enjoy their society ; read to them ; reason 
with them ; play with them — in a word, we 
could love them. 

But the times have changed, and our 
women have changed with them. Nature 
has succumbed to Art, and the penalty has 
fallen heavily on those who would love the 
gentle sex, but cannot. What we want is, 
during this age of "striking," to see our 
women " strike." A bold resistance on their 
part, and a vow to stand out to the last 
against the inhuman caprices of Fashion, 
must be followed by a beneficial result. Our 

* Since this was in type, our eye has fallen 
upon the following very sensible remarks, which 
appear in our ever-watchful contemporary, the 
Sheffield Free-Press. " It is notorious that fashion 
does not aim at beauty, but at uniformity (and de- 
formity). And herein we must unceremoniously 
attack our aristocratical or courtly classes, who 
fancy that whatever they may lack in solid culture, 
they more than compensate by refinement and 
elegance ! There can be no true elegance where 
fashion rules. Why? Obviously, because diffe- 
rent human forms are cast in different types ; and 
to attain their full native comeliness, each needs 
a different and appropriate dress. Take the simple 
case of hair. One has curly locks, which natu- 
rally cling in their own places, and perhaps will 
not grow long. Another has straight hair ; which, 
when allowed to grow long, has a natural broad 
wave, but which, if cut short, is rigid and ugly. 
Fashion commands to trim each of these heads 
into one form, and then does not know that it is 
sacrificing comeliness ! ! With as much reason 
might old and young dress alike, as two persons 
who, though of the same age, are of different 
physical type." 

Our contemporary is quite right. Society abounds 
in specimens of this uniform deformity ; nor do 
foreigners fail to comment on our national weak- 
ness. We now rival Paris ; and even exceed that 
dissipated city in folly ! — Ed. K. J. 



sensible men say that " English women have 
no minds; " and they prove this assertion by 
pointing to the deformity of their persons, 
both at home and abroad. Walking or riding, 
the picture, we confess, is a painful one to 
look at.* 

But we are wandering. The disfigurement 
of the human head and face are what we are 
now discussing. The remarks of a writer 
in " Blackwood " shall assist us. He is a man 
of good taste, and speaks out quite to the 
point. " How often," says he, "do we see 
a good face made quite ugly by a total in- 
attention to lines ! Sometimes the hair is so 
pushed into the cheeks and squared at the 
forehead, as to give a most extraordinary 
pinched shape to the face. Let the oval, we 
say, where it exists, be always preserved. 
Where it does not, let the hair be so 
humored that the deficiency shall not be 

" Nothing is more common than to see a 
face which is somewhat too large below, made 
to look grossly large and coarse, by contract- 
ing the hair on the forehead and cheeks, and 
there bringing it to an abrupt check ! 
Whereas, such a face should enlarge the fore- 
head and the cheek; and let the hair fall 
partially over, so as to shade and soften off 
the lower exuberance. Some, too, press the 
hair down close to the face, which is to lose 
the very characteristic of hair — ease and 
freedom. Many ladies wear the hair like 
blinkers. You always expect these non- 
descripts will shy if you approach them." 

The foregoing remarks are perfectly just. 
Nothing charms like simplicity. We dearly 
love to see a maiden come 

Tripping lightly forth, 
With all her budding blossomings of Spring — 
Her radiant promises around her head, 
Orbing themselves into fulfilment. 

And what can be more perfectly — more 
charmingly delightful, than to behold a lady's 
jet-black tresses dipping carelessly on her 
alabaster neck. See ! 

Tbey dip like darkness on a snow-wreath 

Resting on a mountain side, 
Which they gloom, but cannot cover — 

Which they veil, but cannot hide ; 
Dip, like brown bees on a lily, 

Which they cannot darken quite, 
But which seem for their sweet presence 

All the fairer — purer white. 

Too well do we know with what an iron grasp 
" Fashion " fastens on the female figure (pre- 
suming on female weakness), for us to ima- 
gine that we can cause the hydra to relin- 
quish its hold. We would "bite" if we 

* A long and particularly eloquent argument 
on this all-important subject, will be found in our 
Second Volume (p. 36). We earnestly crave a 
reference to it. 

could, but we can't. Yet we can "bark ; " 
and that may do some good. Let us hope for 
the best. Meantime, let us remind our fair 
readers, in the words of the writer in " Black- 
wood," that a lady's head-dress, whether 
in a portrait or for her daily wear, should, 
as in old portraits of Rembrandt and Titian, 
go off into shade, and not be seen too 
clearly, and hard all round. It should not, 
in fact, be isolated, as if out of sympathy 
with all surrounding nature. 

Whilst women show such an inveterate 
enmity against Nature (let us be very 
candid), one half at least of their loveliness 
— sad thought ! is kept quite out of sight. 


The joys of Friendship hear me sing ! 
The trust, security, and mutual tenderness, 
The double joys, when both are glad for both ! 
Our only wealth, our last retreat and strength, 
Secure against all fortune, and the world. 

True Friendship I sing — not the tide of applause 
Smoothly gliding from flattery's tongue ; 

If Truth, in description, should rise from the vase, 
Oh ! guard her from censure and wrong. 

True Friendship I sing. Not the smile that endears 
While malevolence rankles at heart ; 

Nor the hand which so ready and open appears, 
Where no want is, each good to impart. 

Not the blush so enchanting on woman's fair cheek, 

That dies in soft tinges away ; 
If, in colors like these, Envy refuge should seek, 

At Beauty's superior display. 

Not the air consequential, that gives double weight 

To trifles too small to be told ; 
That favor confers at as frugal a rate 

As the miser that parts with his gold. 

Not Profession, for she walks the last in her train, 
When the Goddess in triumph appears ; 

Above all pretence, holding promises vain, 
Nor seducing by smiles or by tears. 

True Friendship I sing — an unbounding desire 

That glows in the liberal breast ; 
Still to raise at Sincerity's altar a fire, 

To cherish and warm the distressed. 

While the world it enlivens, its more genial heat 

Is confined to the happier few ; 
For the mind that exults in affections that meet 

Would for ever its purpose renew. 

Let meek-ey'd Precaution, then, slowly prefer 
When to gain so important an end : 

Since the Gods have decreed it is human to err, 
First know, and then fix on, your friend. 

Nor survey every fault with a critical eye, — 

More wisely each virtue commend. 
Let wrongs undesign'd in the memory die, 

With reluctance still part with a friend. 

If truly I sing, may the myrtle's gay wreath 
With fragrance my temples embower ; 

If false — let my muse in oblivion meet death, 
And her praise be the praise of an hour ! 






Before proceeding to the subject 
of Nutrition and Growth, a few remarks on 
the structure of the stem and root of plants 
are necessary. 

The stem, or ascending axis of the plant, 
is separated from the root by the collar or 
neck, and is distinguished from it by having 
a provision for the development of leaf-buds 
on its surface. As a general rule, the former 
rises into the air, bearing leaves and flowers, 
while the latter ramifies in the soil. Both 
organs are composed of the two classes of 
tissue described in our last. 

Taking the stem of a tree or shrub as an 
example, we find in the centre a quantity of 
soft matter, known as the pith ; composed 
entirely of cellular tissue, and occupying in 
the young stem a very great space. Next to 
this is a ring of cells and vessels, — not quite 
wood, and not altogether pith. Then a ring 
of wood, having very few cells, composed 
almost entirely of the spindle-shaped or 
woody vessels ; and outside this, the bark, 
which is almost altogether cellular. We have 
supposed that the portion of the stem under 
examination is only of one year's growth ; for 
every year a fresh circle of wood is developed, 
giving that annulated appearance to a cross- 
section of timber, by which the age of the 
tree may be told by the merest tyro. This 
description applies to all British plants which 
have a woody stem, — as trees and shrubs. 

In the palm and cane tribes, it is different. 
No pith and concentric circles are visible, 
but a confused mixture of cells and vessels 
throughout the whole stem. The root differs 
but little from the stem in structure, save 
that at the extreme point it is uncovered by 
bark or membrane of any kind ; presenting a 
sponge-like mass of cells, whose office it is to 
take up the liquid nutriment in the soil. 

In order to have some idea of the mystery 
of growth, let us trace the fluid from the roots, 
in its progress up the stem, to the leaves, and 
down again, until it forms wood, bark, leaves, 
and flowers. 

The plant being placed in favorable circum- 
stances as regards moisture in the soil, and 
heat and light in the surrounding air, the 
roots take up the proper nutriment in the 
form of a fluid, by means of their sponge-like 
extremities, and from thence they deliver it 
to the stem. In the present state the sap is 
thin, and unfit for nourishment. Through the 
soft wood this crude sap proceeds to the leaves, 
and courses along their upper surface, where 
under the agency of heat and light it parts 
with a considerable quantity of its moisture ; 
becoming the thickened and elaborated sap. 

The change here produced is the fixation of 
carbon and hydrogen, accompanied by the 
liberation of pure oxygen. Descending to 
the lower surface of the leaf, a further addition 
of carbon is received, owing to the decom- 
position of carbonic acid gas. The sap now 
enters the vascular and cellular tissues of the 
bark, and commences a downward journey, 
nourishing the parts as it goes on. 

This fluid is received by the woody fibres, 
and leaves a thickening deposit on their 
walls, which deposit afterwards obliterates 
all passage, transforming them into tough 
little rods. The same thickening process 
goes on in cells, till they become, in like 
manner, solid masses. In this manner, dis- 
tributing its benefits as it flows, the sap, 
when comparatively exhausted, at length 
reaches the root, which, abstracting what is 
necessary for its increasing vigor, rejects the 
worthless residue. This elaborated sap is 
sometimes clear and transparent, though 
oftentimes colored and milky. It is by no 
means an easy matter to observe the flow of 
the sap, owing to the delicacy of the vegetable 
tissue, and the often colorless nature of the 
fluid itself; but, in a few plants, it has been 
noticed, and among these the Caoutchouc 
tree, the Celandine, and the Euphorbia ; all 
of which have it more or less opaque and 
colored. It is between the newest layer of 
wood, and the inside bark, that the formation 
of new wood takes place ; and there we have 
a quantity of fluid not unlike mucilage. A 
brief consideration of the important opera- 
tions carried on here, may prove not unin- 

This thick mucilaginous fluid is made up 
of the elaborated sap, or secretions from the 
adjacent cells. Under the force of one of 
those inscrutable laws which regulate life, — 
vegetable as well as animal, — a change takes 
place in the consistency .of this fluid. It 
becomes granular, each granule becomes a 
cavity, each cavity gives birth to other- 
granules, and these secondary granules be- 
come in their turn cavities. Enlarging and 
strengthening, they become covered with a 
proper membrane, and form regular woody 
cells or vessels. At first they are rounded, 
and in that state carry on the functions of 
nutrition and reproduction. But they gradu- 
ally lengthen into the spindle shape; after 
which they become thickened by the depo- 
sition of a hard substance in their interior, — ■ 
ultimately obliterating all openmg, and form- 
ing regular woody fibre. 

From what has now been stated, the reader- 
will have a slight notion of how wood is 
developed ; but as cellular tissue is of much 
more frequent occurrence in the vegetable 
kingdom, than vascular- — seeing that many 
plants are entirely without the latter, while 
it is impossible for* any to exist without the 



former— we may pay a little attention to cell 

The rapidity with which cells are formed 
is truly surprising. A puff-ball which in die 
evening was less than a pigeon's egg in size, 
in the morning looks like a gigantic dumpling. 
Lindley estimates that the cells must in this 
instance have been produced at the rate of 
sixty millions per minute. Let us try to 
understand how this is done, — but yet let us 
not be deceived ; we are entering on an almost 
hopeless task. Scarcely one among the array 
of learned physiologists who have investigated 
the subject, has been able to coincide with 
another, and — ■ 

Who shall decide when doctors disagree ? 

The only safe way in a case like the present 
is to choose a middle path, and so escape the 
quicksands in which so many investigators 
seem lost. Leaving Schleiden, Mohl, Henfrey, 
and half-a-dozen more, to explain the by-no- 
means evident peculiarities of their individual 
theories, we adopt a little of what appertains 
to all. We believe, then, that in cells, or in 
spaces between cells, there exists a quantity of 
mucilaginous matter ; at first thin and trans- 
parent, which at length assumes a firmer 
consistency and exhibits in its mass a number 
of little spaces resembling air-bubbles ; that 
these gradually enlarge, and become enveloped 
by a membrane formed from the thickened 
mucilaginous fluid. We also believe that this 
is the perfect cell. This cell has generally 
in its interior a little transparent body known 
as a nucleus ; but whether this internal body 
has any part to perform in the gathering of 
the cell wall, or is formed after its full develop- 
ment, is a knotty point. This development 
from a mucilaginous fluid, may take place 
within cells already formed, so that one may 
give birth to hundreds. And this may 
account for the rapid growth of man3 T plants, 
even in our own country, as the hop ; but 
more especially in the tropics. Another 
means of cell -reproduction, is as follows : — 
The cell wall is internally lined by a mucila- 
ginous covering ; this inside wall, if we may 
so term it, has the power of contracting in 
the middle, and finally of separating, so as to 
form two soft bladder-like bodies, which, like 
the first, contract, and divide into two, — so 
that we have within the fully-formed cell, 
four partially developed. These gradually 
increase in size and consistency, till they at 
length become too big for the distended walls 
of the parent, which they burst, and then 
assume the functions of cells proper ; them- 
selves to produce others, which in their turn 
will destroy them. 

In connection with the growth of plants, 
there is yet another subject which claims a 
little attention, viz., the rise of the sap. It 
is well known that a great portion of the 

fluid which traverses the vegetable structure 
passes through the cells. Now, as these 
seldom present any opening, it may be proper 
to inquire how it is that fluids can pass fromthe 
one vesicle to the other ? It is a known fact 
that everything in nature tends to an equality. 
The light has scarcely left the god of day, 
when it is diffused over our dark world, — the 
sound of Jove's artillery travels on the wind's 
wings, until it is lost. The heat generated 
by combustion becomes actually lost in dif- 
fusion ; and the noxious vapors which rise, 
like a pestilence, from our manufacturing 
towns, are quickly spread from pole to pole. 
Heat, light, electricity, sound, and gases, all 
tend to universal diffusion, i. e. equality, — 
and this law holds good as well with liquids. 
If two liquids, of different densities, say 
syrup and water, are separated by any animal 
or vegetable membrane, a force comes into 
operation which compels the denser to pass 
to the rarer, and vice versa, until they have 
both reached the same density. 

Now the sap in the cells of the leaf has 
parted with a great portion of its moisture, 
while that further down is still the same ; the 
result is that this force comes into play, 
forcing the less dense sap up to that position 
where it is brought under the influence of 
solar heat and light, and rendered fit for the 
nourishment of the vegetable structure. 




We find the following exquisite pencilling 
in Collins's " Basil." There are some few 
of us who can recognise the picture as " a 
sketch from life." We have ourself seen 
that "little rim of delicate white lace," that 
"lovely, dusky throat," and those "simple 
little ornaments," — all so mutely, so sweetly 
eloquent to the loving heart ! 

She put down her veil again immediately. Her 
lips moved involuntarily as she lowered it. I 
thought I could see, through the lace, that the 
slight movement ripened to a smile. Still there 
was enough left to look on, — enough to charm. 
There was the little rim of delicate white lace, 
encircling the lovely, dusky throat. There was 
the figure visible, where the shawl had fallen open 
— slender, but already well developed in its slen- 
derness, and exquisitely supple. There was the 
waist, naturally low, and left to its natural place, 
and natural size. There were the little millinery 
and jewellery ornaments that she wore — simple 
and common-place enough in themselves — yet each 
a beauty, each a treasure, on her. There was all 
this to behold, all this to dwell on, in spite of the 

The veil ! how little of the woman does it hide, 
when the man really loves her ! 




Sweet smile ! that lights the bah}- cheek, 
Where ne'er the touch of woe has been ; 
Whose dimples innocently speak 
How guileless is the heart within : — 
! how thy radiance, purely bright, 
Illumes the little cherub's eye, 
As if a ray of heavenly light 
Had dropt upon it from the sky ! 

Fond smile ! that o'er the mother's brow, 
Whilst gazing on her infant's face, 
Kindles with rapture's purest glow, 
The features of the sire to trace : 
How dost thou light her lucid eye, 
Distilling fast the tender tear, 
With all a mother's ecstacy, 
And yet with all a mother's fear ! 

Dear smile ! that round the husband's lip 
Curls into anxious tenderness, 
Whilst from Joy's cup he seems to sip 
Whate'er may charm, whate'er can bless ; 
Whilst gazing on the loveliest thing 
Hip heart adores beneath the skies, 
Thou tell'st that woe's envenom'd sting 
Has not yet cursed his Paradise. 

Soft smile ! that when his growing boy 

Pursues his gambols at his side, 

Becomes the index of his joy, 

And beams with all the father's pride, — 

'Tis beautiful to see thee play 

O'er his rough features bronzed and dun, 

Like light, ere yet the early day 

Has ushered up the brighter sun. 

Chaste smile ! that o'er the kindling blush 
Of innocence so purely steals, 
Adding new graces to the flush, 
Which all the guileless heart reveals, — 
How lovely to behold thee there, 
O'er ev'ry feature brightly beaming, 
Like meteor in the spring-tide air, 
Around the moon's fair circle streaming ! 

Kind smile ! that kindles when the rod 
Of stern affliction has been broken, 
Irradiate from the throne of God, 
And of his love the purest token ; 
When round the lips thy beauties hover, 
Like brightest stars in summer weather, 
Thou dost the heart and soul discover, 
And shed thy light on both together. 

Pure smile ! that innocently steals 

Over religion's lovely features, 

And to the guilty heart appeals 

Of God's poor woe-benighted creatures, — 

Thou, mutely eloquent, to all 

Tell'st of impieties forgiven, 

And from affliction's heavy thrall, 

Cheerest the struggling soul to Heaven. 

H. C. 




The soul that hath not sorrow'd 
Knows neither its own weakness nor its strength. 


that the great use they serve is the economy 
of time. What would man have accomplished 
by the end of his life, had it been needful for 
him to attend to his movements in standing, 
walking, and using his hands and fingers ? 
What progress would thought make, were 
speakers to be thinking of the sounds they 
utter, and to be consciously directing and 
adjusting their vocal apparatus ? 

And where would be the literature of the 
world, were the mind compelled to pass from 
its sublime contemplations to the muscular 
actions which guide the movements of the 
pen ? 

But the more we consider the subject, 
whether as to the development of those 
actions which characterise the species, or as 
to those acquired accomplishments and dex- 
terities which range from the humblest handi- 
crafts to the loftiest triumphs of the imagina- 
tive arts, the more we shall be struck by the 
gradually increasing subordination and sub- 
jugation of the mechanical processes to the 
more exalted faculties of the mind. This 
view would at first, perhaps, make us inquire 
whether, as these volitional movements which 
we have been considering ultimately become 
automatic, it would not have enlarged the 
capacities of man, had they begun as instincts; 
just as some of them really are found in the 
lower animals, instead of going through so 
long a process of evolution and education ? 
A foolish question, as every question must 
be which proposes an arrangement of events 
different from what is obviously a part of the 
plan of God's universe. 

Take away the struggling, striving will, 
even from these corporeal actions ; remove 
effort, resolution, the conscious initiation of 
action, perseverance, training, and education, 
and what is human life reduced to ? Gigantic 
as man's powers become, he was not intended 
to spring from the earth in their full equip- 
ment. Survey him in his infancy, childhood, 
youth, adolescence, and manhood; and while 
3 7 ou become convinced that his gradual ac- 
quirements bring him a multitude of enjoy- 
ments, as well as difficulties and disasters, 
you cannot but see that what is evolving in 
him bears a strict correlation to the powers, 
emotions, sentiments, and virtuous actions of 
those who, having arrived at the maturity of 
their powers, are to help him ; to whom he is 
bound, as they to him, by ties which make 
the affinities of the human family infinitely 
transcend the transitory parental instincts 
and gregarious associations of the lower 
animals ; for they live and grow up almost as 
they were born, devoid of progress, not one 
whit wiser or more skilful than the first pair 



that issued from Noah's ark, — living for 
themselves only, or only under a blind impulse 
providing for another succession. 

But man, having consciously and with pain, 
labor, and peril, acquired his endowments, 
lives them over again by teaching them to 
his offspring ; and apart from that happier 
existence to which he knows that he is des- 
tined in other worlds, feels that here too he 
has a kind of immortality : that as he has 
inherited knowledge, and virtue, and power, 
he too has to transmit them. That his life 
and its achievements have a mortal metem- 
psychosis, a translation into the enlarging 
attributes and brightening destinies of his 
children, and of unborn generations, and in 
the production of works which, like Milton, 
he knows that posterity will not willingly let 
die, and in the elaboration of systems which, 
like Bacon, he bequeaths with his fame to the 
next ages. In this realising anticipation of 
a posthumous renown, he survives his own 
death, passing by his living consciousness far 
beyond the narrow bounds affixed to his mere 
corporeal duration. 

But while habit, as we have seen, is so 
useful in abridging labor, in economising 
time, in preserving order, and method, and 
coherence in our thoughts, and in making 
the practice of virtue and religion easier to 
us, — still it imposes upon us no inevitable 
compulsion. It is not the blind necessity of 
an instinct. It is our own fault if we are 
enslaved instead of being merely assisted by 
habit. Human agency ought to be able to 
assert its freedom in this as in every other 
department of thought and action. The 
habit should be like a steed — so well broken, 
that though the will may have thrown the 
reins on its neck, while otherwise occupied, 
it can in a moment gather them up, and come 
to a sudden halt. 

Habit, we have seen at once, is the product 
and the sign of previous volition. And though 
in certain muscular actions belonging to the 
species, it closely resembles instinct, yet, as 
to the thoughts and actions of individual 
men, it is widely different. For as the will 
of every man has its own peculiar form and 
color, — making an important part of his indi- 
viduality, so his habits will have their own 
character and freedom of growth. Those 
who are attached to him will regard with 
partiality the very habits which have grown 
out of his peculiarities. The singularities 
of his gestures, the eccentricities of his gait, 
carriage, and s demeanor, the oddity of his featu- 
ral expression, the tone of his voice, his ways 
and his whims, his fancies and his philosophies 
his predilection, and prejudices, the whole 
complexion of his life, and the whole color 
of his conduct — his goings out and his com- 
ings in, his risings up and his lyings down, — 
all are valued, because they give us more 

vividly the express image of him who is 
endeared to us for his own individual sake. 

[We hardly need remark how cordially we 
coincide in sentiment with Dr. Symonds. It 
is our peculiarities, our shades of character, 
our habits, our ways, our sayings, and our 
manner of life — -that endear us all so greatly 
the one to the other. 

But for these distinguishing characteristics, 
we could not be valued for ourselves alone. 
They are a part and parcel of our very exist- 
ence ; and we prize them accordingly,] 



She slept; and there was visioned in her sleep 
A hill : above its summit sang the lark — 
She strove to climb it : ocean wide and deep 
Gaped for her feet, where swam a sable bark, 
Manned with dread shapes, whose aspects, doure 

and dark, 
Mocked God's bright image ; huge and grim they 

grew — 
Quenched all the lights of heaven, save one small 

Then seized her — laughing to the bark they drew 
Her, shuddering, shrieking — ocean kindled as they 


And she was carried to a castle bright. 

A voice said, " Sibyl, here's thy blithe bride- 
groom ! " 

See shrieked — she prayed; — at once the bridal 

Was quench'd and chang'd to midnight's funeral 

She saw swords flash, and many a dancing plume 

Roll on before her ; while around her fell 

Increase of darkness, like the hour of doom ; 

She felt herself as chained by charm and spell. 

Lo ! one to win her came she knew and loved 
right well. 

Right through the darkness down to ocean-flood 
He bore her now ; the deep and troubled sea 
Rolled red before her like a surge of blood, 
And wet her feet ; she felt it touch her knee — 
She started — waking from her terrors, she 
Let through the room the midnight's dewy air — 
The gentle air, so odorous, fresh, and free, 
Her bosom cooled ; she spread her palms, and 

Knelt humble, and to God confessed herself in 



E'en while she prayed, her spirit waxed more 

meek — 
'Mid snow-white sheets her whiter limbs she 

threw ; 
A moon-beam came, and on her glowing cheek 
Dropt bright, as proud of her diviner hue. 
Sweet sleep its golden mantle o'er her threw, 
And there she lay, as innocent and mild 
As unfledged dove, or daisy born in dew. 
Fair dreams descending chased off visions wild ; 
She stretched in sleep her hand, and on the 

shadows smiled. 




Justice sometimes is slow to be matured. 


All men have their "hobbies;" and 
they claim a right to them. We cannot 
however see why these " hobbies " should be 
cultivated at the expense of the women. 
Their right is just as inalienable ; and we 
love to see them stand upon their rights. 

The above remarks are called forth by a 
very interesting little tale, signed "J. W.," 
which we have just read in our excellent and 
useful contemporary the Family Herald. It 
is headed " Gloves and Cigars ;" and contains 
a moral which we should like to see stereo- 
typed on the heart of every smoking husband 
in the kingdom. We know many of these 
foul-mouthed fellows, whose consumption of 
smoke is enormous. It is "odd," but as 
certainly true, that smoking husbands are 
always stingy, selfish hunxes. They live for 
themselves only, and care not how their poor 
spouses fare. Nor is it at all uncommon for 
some of them to be largely in debt for their 
filthy luxury — tobacco. On this matter we 
could speak oracularly. But let " a hint " 
suffice, while we tell our tale of smoke : — 

" I must really have a pair of new gloves, 
James," said Mrs. Morris to her husband, as 
they sat together after tea. 

Mr. Morris had been reading the evening 
paper, but he laid it down and looked crossly 
up. " Really," he said, " you seem to me to 
waste more money on gloves than any woman 
I ever knew. It was only last week 1 gave 
you money to buy a new pair." 

The wife colored, and was about to answer 
tartly ; for she felt that her husband had no 
cause for his crossness ; but remembering 
that " a soft answer turneth away wrath," 
she said, " Surely you have forgotten, James. 
It was more than a month since I bought my 
last pair of gloves ; and I have been out a 
great deal, as you know, in that time." 

" Humph !" said Mr. Morris, taking up 
the paper again. 

For several minutes there was silence. 
The wife continued her sewing, and the hus- 
band read sulkily on ; at last, as if sensible 
that he had been unnecessarily harsh, he 
ventured a remark by way of indirect 

" Business is very dull, Jane," he said, 
" and sometimes I do not know where to look 
for money. I can scarcely meet my ex- 

The wife looked up with tears in her eyes. 
" I am sure, James," she said, " that I try to 
be as economical as possible. I went with- 
out a new silk dress this winter, because the 
one I got last spring would answer, I thought, 
by having a new body made to it. My old 
bonnet, too, was re-trimmed. And as to the 
gloves, you know you are very particular 

about my having gloves always nice, and 
scold me if I appear in the streets with a 
shabby pair on." 

Mr. Morris knew all this to be true, and 
felt still more ashamed of his conduct ; how- 
ever, like most men, he was too proud to 
confess his error, except indirectly. He took 
out his pocket-book, and said, " How much 
will satisfy you for a year ; not for gloves 
only, but for all the other etceteras ? I will 
make you an allowance ; and then you need 
not ash me for money whenever you want a 
pair of gloves or a new handkerchief." 

The wife's eyes glistened with delight. 
She thought for a moment, and then said, 
" I will undertake, on ten pounds, to find my- 
self in all these things." 

Mr. Morris dropped the newspaper as if it 
had been red-hot, and stared at his wife. 
" I believe," he said, " you women think that 
we men are made of money. I don't spend 
ten pounds in gloves and handkerchiefs in 
half-a-dozen years.'''' 

Mrs. Morris did not reply instantly, for she 
was determined to keep her temper. But 
the quickness with which the needle moved, 
showed that she had some difficulty to be 
amiable. At last she said, " But how much 
do you spend in cigars ?" 

This was a home-thrust, for Mr. Morris 
was an inveterate smoker ; and consumed 
twice as much on this needless luxury as the 
sum his wife asked. He picked up the paper 
and made no reply. 

"I don't wish you to give up smoking, 
since you enjoy it so much," she said ; " but 
surely cigars are no more necessary to a gen- 
tleman, than are gloves and handkerchiefs to 
a lady ; and if you expend twenty pounds in 
the one, I don't see why you should complain 
of my wishing ten pounds for the other." 

"Pshaw!" said her husband, finally; "I 
don't spend twenty pounds a year in cigars. 
It can't be." 

" You bring home a box every three weeks ; 
and each box, you say, costs about twenty- 
four shillings, which, at the end of the year, 
amounts to more than twenty pounds." 

Mr. Morris fidgeted on his seat. His wife 
saw her advantage ; and, smiling to herself, 
pursued it. " If you had counted up," she 
said, "as I have, every shilling you have 
given me for gloves, handkerchiefs, shoes, 
and ribbons, during a year, you would find it 
amounted to ten pounds ; and if you had kept 
a statement of what your cigars cost, you 
would see that [ am correct in my estimate 
as to them." 

" Twenty pounds ! It can't be," said the 
husband, determined not to be convinced. 

"Let us make a bargain," replied the wife. 
" Put into my hands twenty pounds to buy 
cigars for you, and ten pounds to purchase 
gloves, &c, for me. I promise faithfully to 



keep both accounts correctly, with this stipu- 
lation, that, at the end of a year, I am to 
retain all I can save of the ten pounds, and 
to return to you all that remains of the 
twenty pounds." 

" It is agreed. I will pay quarterly, 
beginning to night." And he took out his 
purse, and counted seven pounds ten shillings 
into his wife's hands." 

And how did the bargain turn out ? Our 
readers have, no doubt, guessed it already. 
Jane continued, during the year, to supply 
her husband with cigars, and, at the end, 
rendered in her account ; by which it ap- 
peared, that Mr. Morris had smoked away 
twenty-two pounds, while his wife had spent 
only eight pounds on gloves, handkerchiefs, 
and shoes — the two pounds she had saved 
having just enabled her to keep her husband's 
cigar- box full, without calling on him for the 
deficiency till the year was up. 

Mr. Morris paid the balance, with a long 
face, but without a word of comment. He 
has ever since given, of his own accord, the 
ten-pound allowance to his wife. 

Husbands who think their wives waste 
money on gloves, should be careful to 


We repeat it — there is a good moral in 
this sketch from life ; and we hope each one 
of our fair readers will make ample use of it 
for her own particular benefit. Men are 
little better than semi-savages, and must be 
well looked after. 


An amusing book has just been issued, 
entitled " The Turks in Europe." It is from 
the pen of Mr. Bayle St. John — a writer not 
much known, but an accurate observer of 
life. We have been looking carefully over 
his pages, and find two racy extracts that are 
likely to amuse our readers ; and at this sea- 
son, when " heavy writing" is at a discount, 
they will be considered quite in place. The 
first scene that we will direct attention to is 


Let us, says the author, introduce those who 
may be strangers to their customs, into the house 
where the farah (feast) is to be held. Women 
are busily occupied washing out and sweeping the 
court-yard ; the flowers and other plants are fresh 
watered; the marble fountain is decorated with 
colored lanterns and festoons of flowers; carpets 
are spread, and divan cushions ranged against 
the walls ; the mistdba is tastefully lighted, and 
a highly inflammable torch, composed of the fat 
wood of fir, resin, and other ingredients, is planted 
in each of the four corners. 

In the smoking apartment of the mistdba, pre- 
parations are making on a grand scale. Large 
bags of ready-washed and prepared timbac are 
hung upon nails in the wall, to filter and to be fit 
for immediate use when the narghilies are called 

into requisition. Tobacco-pouches are filled. Two 
additional mangals of charcoal-fire and some ad- 
ditional coffee-pots are prepared. Decanters are 
filled with arraki, wine, liqueurs, orange-flower 
and rose water ; and the cut-glass saucers are 
replenished with candied preserves ; whilst two 
maid-servants and a boy, assisted and superin- 
tended by the mistress of the house, are busy 
grinding coffee and decocting huge bowls of deli- 
ciously-iced lemonade. 

In addition to all this, a side-table is groaning 
under the weight of plates of sliced oranges and 
picked pomegranates, with numerous other fruits, 
and a great variety of pastry. By the time all 
these arrangements are completed, the night sets 
in ; the whole yard is illuminated ; the members 
of the household and the servants are busily 
engaged donning their best attire, and the com- 
pany of hired musicians arrive. The music strik- 
ing up is the signal for the nearest invited neigh- 
bors to make their appearance. They arrive ; the 
men clad in long, loose silken robes, the women 
enveloped in their white izars. But these latter 
are speedily thrown aside at the invitation of the 
lady of the house, who assists in helping the 
guests to disrobe, and then confides their izars to 
the trusty care of the handmaiden. Now these 
veils are all of the same make, and they have no 
initials or other distinguishing mark. Notwith- 
standing this, no confusion ensues on the breaking 
up of a party as to identification ; every lady is 
quick to recognise her own peculiar izar from the 
mass of white sheets that are folded and piled, one 
above another, upon the divan in the upstairs dres- 

Soon the whole party have arrived ; and the 
amusements of the evening commence with vocal 
and instrumental music. After this, some of the 
gentlemen stand up and go through the graceful 
attitudes of the Syrian dance. Then, some others 
volunteer the sword dance, or the Bedouin dance ; 
some of the married ladies then take courage ; 
but it requires coaxing and threats to induce the 
timid damsel to display her skill. Persuasion being 
out of the question, some old gentleman gets up 
and pretends that he is going to dance instead of 
her, and he goes through a few steps till he comes 
close up to some girl that he has singled out from 
the circle. Seizing her arm with no very gentle 
force, he whirls her into the centre of the yard ; 
and meanwhile, some one who has watched the 
manoeuvre acts the same part by some other blush- 
ing maiden. These are confronted face to face, 
and there is now no escape ; so they commence, 
at first timidly and bashfully, but, getting gradu- 
ally excited by the music, they lose all this pre- 
tended bashfulness, and do their best to outshine 
each other ; and truly there is rarely a more 
graceful sight than two beautiful Damascene 
girls, elegantly dressed and bespangled with 
jewels, displaying their graceful figures to the 
best advantage, to the slow but becoming mea- 
sures of the dance. 

This is an important ceremony, at which 
we should dearly love to assist. It is so very 
different from our English ceremonies, that 
it would possess a delicious freshness, — an 
indescribable charm. Such a contest, and 
between two such lovely performers, must 



be more than commonly interesting. But 
let us proceed : — 

All the other young ladies now follow their 
example ; and as each couple retires at the ter- 
mination of their efforts to please, they are hailed 
with shouts of applause, and liberally besprinkled 
with rose and orange-flower water. The old ladies 
evince their approbation by a peculiar vibrating 
scream, produced by the voice passing through 
the nearly-closed lips, whilst the under lip is kept 
in a continual tremulous state by the rapid appli- 
cation of the back of the fore-finger to that feature. 

When dancing is over for the evening, games 
of forfeit are introduced, and promote much mirth ; 
especially one game called " Tuthun, Tuthun, rain 
Tuihwn" — a game of Turkish origin, as its name 
denotes, and which is played thus : every one in 
the circle takes the name of a bird, a tree, or a 
flower, whilst the king of the game goes round 
and collects in a handkerchief some small article 
from each one present. These he afterwards 
shuffles together, and then drawing out one, which 
he carefully conceals in his hand, he fixes upon 
some one in the circle, to whom he puts the ques- 
tion — " Tuthun, Tuthun, minTuthunV or " To- 
bacco, tobacco, whose is it?" The party fixed 
upon is obliged to guess, and he names some bird 
or flower which he has heard some one call him- 
self. If the guess is wrong, he has to hold out 
his hand and receive three stripes from a closely- 
knotted handkerchief; and then, the party referred 
to is next obliged to guess to whom the " Tuthun" 
belongs, and so on all round the circle till the right 
name has been discovered. Then the king resigns 
his post and handkerchief, and is relieved in his 
office by him or her that made the right guess. 
After these games, some one tells a story or recites 
a poem. 

Eeally, these little games must be delight- 
ful. We should like right well to be one of 
the invited guests. We would tell them 
many a good story ; recite to them many a 
pleasing poem. 

But now let us introduce our second ex- 
tract, — the subject an enchanting one. It is 
a full-length picture of a lady of Damascus, 
called by Mr. St. John " a very fair specimen 
of her sex." Can our English women catch 
any idea worth adopting, from the subjoined 
graphic sketch ? We think they can, if they 
be so disposed. What they are so deficient 
in, are — ease, repose, elegance, and effect. 
When " dressed," they tell us, unmistakeably, 
they live but to be looked at. The mind 
altogether retires. They are " all outside." 
Sad, but true ! 

Mr. St. John has evidently made good 
use of his eyes, — even though he may not 
have lost his heart. Beginning (of course) 
with her eyes, he thus writes of 


Her eyes are beautifully dark ; her eyelashes, 
eyebrows, and hair, of a glossy jet black. The 
latter, tinged with henna, hangs down her back 
and reaches nearly to the ground in a succession 
of plaits ; each terminating with black silk braid, 

knotted and interwoven with various sized golden 
coins. Her features (excepting the eyes) are all 
small, but compact. The nose is Grecian, the lips 
cherry, and slightly pouting, the chin dimpled, 
the form of the face oval, and the complexion 
clear, with a rosy tint. The bust and figure are 
unexceptionable, the arms comely, the wrists and 
ankles well turned, and the feet and hands perfect 
models for a sculptor. Yet this is one out of the 
many nondescript beings that we encountered, 
with izar and veil in the street. 

Her face and figure are well set off by the head- 
dress and Oriental costume. On the top of her 
head she wears a small red cap, which is encircled 
by a handsomely-flowered handkerchief; and over 
the latter, strings of pearls and pieces of small 
gold money are tastefully arranged in festoons. 
In the centre of her red cap is a diamond crescent, 
from which hangs a long golden cord with a blue 
silk tassel, usually ornamented with pearls. Her 
vest fits tight, and admirably displays the unlaced 

In summer, this vest is of blue or pink satin, 
bordered and fringed with gold lace. In winter, 
cloth, edged with fur, is substituted for the satin ; 
and over the vest is worn a short grey jacket, 
chastely embroidered with black silk braid. The 
vest is confined to the waist by a zunnar, in sum- 
mer, of a silk Tripoli scarf, in winter by a costly 
cashmere shawl ; and from under this a long robe 
reaches to her ankles, and is divided into two long 
lappels lined with satin and fringed with costly 
trimmings. This latter robe partially conceals 
the shirwal, or full trousers, which hang loosely 
over, and are fastened round the ankles; the tasty 
mixture of colors, and the graceful arrangement, 
render the costume a perfect study. 

Latterly European shoes have been much used 
by the Damascene ladies ; especially those gaily- 
flowered kid shoes, imported into Syria from Mar- 
seilles. This completes the young lady's toilet, 
and her walk and action are as graceful as her 
figure and face are prepossessing ; but beyond the 
naam (yes) and la (no) of conversation, you can 
seldom get a word from her unless you are a very 
intimate friend of the family; and then, these young 
ladies are as fond of a little romping or quizzing 
as their more accomplished and more elegant 
sisters of the North. 

It would be prudish, were it otherwise ; 
and who could help romping with, and quiz- 
zing such charming young ladies, — all so 
becomingly habited ! It must indeed be 
delightful to be "a very intimate friend of 
the family." We conclude Mr. St. John had 
that honor. Happy traveller ! 

It is a mistake, adds the author, to imagine that 
the natives of the Turkish empire are wholly 
excluded from any friendly intercourse with the 
women of those countries, — a tale which has 
gained credence and been perseveringly main- 
tained by travellers, few of whom have ever had 
an opportunity of testing the truth of the report 
by personal experience. Amongst the higher 
classes of the Greek persuasion in particular, every 
freedom exists in doors ; young ladies not only 
show themselves, but, after serving the guest with 
coffee and sweetmeats, they will seat themselves 
on the edge of the divan, and soon manage to join 



in the conversation. This state of freedom exists, 
to a greater or less degree, till the young girl is 
betrothed. Then it is not considered decorous 
that she should be present whenever her intended 
bridegroom visits the house ; neither should she 
hear his name mentioned. 

Even amongst Turks, and more especially in 
the villages and smaller towns of Syria, the young 
Mahomedan sees and converses with the future 
object of his love until she attains her eleventh 
or twelfth year. She is then excluded from the 
society of men ; but womanhood has already begun 
to develop itself in the person of the girl of ten or 
eleven years old in these climates, where they are 
oftentimes wives and mothers at thirteen. Hence, 
love exists between the young couple before the 
destined bridegroom urges his mother to make the 
requisite proposals of marriage. He loses sight 
of his lady-love as soon as she enters upon woman- 
hood : though he may, by means of a third party, 
catch an occasional glimpse of her features as she 
passes to and fro, strictly guarded by matrons and 
old duennas. Yet, not a single word or one be- 
witching kiss can the despairing lover hope for, 
until she is brought home to his house, his lawful 
consort and partner for life ! Then, and not till 
then, commences the great seclusion of the ladies 
of the Turkish harem. However, in country 
places and villages, though the newly-married 
bride may be strictly guarded for a year or two, 
this feeling eventually wears off, and the 
women mix in the every-day occupations of the 
field or in the garden, unveiled and undistinguish- 
able front their Christian neighbors. 

These "occasional glimpses" are barba- 
rities. The author does not tell us whether 
any of the matrons and old duennas are 
poisoned, or otherwise disposed of. We 
imagine, however, that they must myste- 
riously disappear in very large numbers ; nor 
ought the inquiry pursued to be too particu- 
larly rigid, — " under the circumstances." 

So much for the beauty and the festivities 
of Damascus. 


Tho' in matters of faith we can't always agree, 

And kneel at one altar together, 
Yet in friendship and love we united may be, 

Or our faith else is not worth a feather. 
Like the bee, whose philosophy, truthful indeed, 

Invites it each blossom to rifle, 
Let us glean what is noble and good from each 

Nor with conscience and honesty ti'ifle. 

How much better and wiser the world might 
Would partisans cease their contention, 
Would the censor but pause, and the bigot be 
Nor strengthen the weeds of dissension ; 
But love one another, as brothers and men, 

In works of pure charity labor, 
Be true to the faith of their sires, and again 
liespect the same right in their neighbor. 

G. L. B. 


Parents, brothers, sisters ! All ye who take 

A lively interest in the happiness 

Of objects to your bosom near and dear, 

(And where is he who has not some fond plant, 

Some lovely flow'r, o'er which his bosom warms, — 

His tender thoughts expand ?) Beware, beware 

The serpent's oily tongue ! The eternal 

Welfare of immortal souls respect ! 

W. Peace. 

If ever mortal had reason to rejoice, 
we have. A few honest remarks from our 
pen, introduced from time to time in con- 
nection with the internal machinery of con- 
vents, have, it would appear, worked wonders. 
They have led to inquiry, and this inquiry 
has ended in satisfactory proof that we 
asserted nothing rashly. 

It would ill become us, as a Public Jour- 
nalist, to shrink from a task of positive though 
painful duty. What we have said has been 
forced from us. We only wish that every 
other Journal had been as fearlessly indepen- 
dent in the utterance of its sentiments. The 
souls and bodies of our fellow-creatures are 
not objects to be trifled with, — their tem- 
poral and eternal happiness are not matters 
to be so lightly esteemed. To immolate one's 
own child, too ! Forbid it, Heaven ! 

How often has our heart groaned with 
anguish, to read (blazoned forth in our public 
newspapers,) an announcement of some dis- 
tinguished young lady of fortune being about 
to " pass through the fire to Moloch !" — or, to 
speak in the refined language of modern 
times, to "take the veil!" Tickets, too, to 
see this great insult to the Almighty, have 
been advertised for disposal! Nobody, 
surely, will ask us to recall the remark we 
have so often uttered as to the world being 
mad. Men and women, with hearts and 
souls, to gaze on a sinful offering like this — 
and with such complacency too ! Is it not 
monstrous ? Fathers ! — blush. Mothers ! — 
weep tears of blood. 

What puzzles us so very much is, — that 
people of good education and general com- 
mon sense, should form such a contemptible, 
such an insulting idea of the Supreme Being, 
whose love for His creatures is so infinite. 
They profess to adopt the "Sacred Volume" 
as their book of faith ; and yet act in open 
defiance of every holy, .innocent principle it 
enjoins. Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, 
friends ! be timely warned, and let no more 
such hideous sacrifices call down the ven- 
geance of Heaven. Cherish your own flesh 
and blood. Do not destroy them here and 

This earth was made for our use and 
happiness, and for the Creator's glory. 
Everything is lawful, lawfully used ; and all 
that is required from us in return is a tribute 
of gratitude, adoration, and praise. On this 



point all our honest and best men are agreed. 
Depend upon this, — he excels most who is 
most useful in his day and generation. 
Cloistered virtues smell rank. 

Ere we terminate these few remarks, let 
us mention the pleasing fact of the withdrawal 
of one of our former subscribers, a Roman 
Catholic. His letter, dated from Buckland, 
near Faringdon, expresses wrathful indig- 
nation at us for our having dared to expose 
the abuses of convents.* This is well ; coming 
from such a quarter — at once the handsomest 
compliment that could have been paid us, 
and strongly corroborative of the power 
truth possesses when properly handled. 
Our Journal never can hope,— neither 
does it aim, to flourish in such an impure 
atmosphere. If it should die, let it die with 
the praise of all honest men upon it ; — it 
were a noble death ! 

It has done much good ; it rejoices in the 
hope of yet adding largely to the sphere of its 

* Let us tell this very enlightened Roman 
Catholic a little secret. We sent his letter, under 
cover, to a friend of ours, who is a true philan- 
thropist. In the reply he sent us, was enclosed the 
following: — "The object of the miserable man 
who wrote that epistle shall be defeated. Tell 
the Editor of Kidd's Journal, with my best 
compliments, that / will be a subscriber, in his 
stead, from the present time. I forward 20s. on 
account. May the righteous cause prosper ! " 
We learn from our friend, that we are indebted 
to a very high-minded, charitable lady for this 
little service. We record it to her honor, — Ed. 



I play not with the thunders, 
And the grim lightnings are no friends of mine ; 
And the profound unmeasured amplitudes 
In which all times and changes hang like stars, 
And the deep questionings which move thy breast, 
Move me but little ; though I know they are. 
I never shook a paw with the dread Sphynx, 
And all her riddles are to me as dreams. 
I love the lowly and the beautiful — 
The apple, sun-brown'd on the garden wall ; 
The peach just rounding into ripeness, with 
Its first young blush just spreading o'er its cheek ; 
The breath of flowers and hum of honey-bees, 
The wavy odor of bean-fields, and songs 
Of merry harvest-home ; the music which 
A tiny streamlet makes unto the trees 
That stand in condescending stateliness 
Along its mossy banks, like grim old grey-beards 
Listening with all becoming gravity 
To the sweet talk and fragmentary thought 
Of prattling infancy ; the amber blush 
And hues of glory which the evening spreads, 
Ere she has closed the flowery volume up, 
The record of the day ; and the dark zone 
Of Night, with all its cabalistic pomp. 




It is full late in the day for us 
to comment on the power of kindness in 
winning young people to the pursuit of useful 
knowledge. We have said, and we glory in 
repeating it, that gentleness and goodness 
will accomplish almost everything. Only get 
possession of a child's heart, and reason kindly 
with it, and it is at once in your keeping. 

These remarks are introductory to a little 
episode which appears in our excellent con- 
temporary, the " Gardeners' Journal," and 
which we make no apology for transferring, 
(in a carefully abridged form,) to our own 
columns. There is a " great fact" inter- 
woven in this little narrative of events, which 
cannot fail to be recognised by our readers, 
and we feel sure of their appreciating the 
motive by which we are actuated in bringing 
it under their eye. Let us call the sketch 
we allude to — 

the village flower-show. 

In a quiet corner of rural England dwells a 
pastor of the Established Church — an eminent 
teacher of botany, whose educational views, sprung 
from a mathematical university, have bent with 
peculiar grace to the influence of his professional 
pursuits. For him, the lilies of the field are mi- 
nistering elements of thought and feeling ; serving 
to rear up the minds of his flock in notions of 
comeliness and order; and to draw lessons from 
plants and other natural objects, is with him a 
treasured step towards the development of an 
observant and godly intellect. Let us see how 
far his village flower-show, held a few days since, 
confirms the spirit of his teaching. 

The ruling principle of the " H Laborers' 

and Mechanics' Horticultural Society," is, that 
every member should feel his independence as 
a contributing subscriber. They are of the 
very poorest class. Few, very few, alas ! of the 
parents are able to read or write. The sub- 
scription is sixpence per annum, and out of this 
small fund two annual shows — one of flowers 
and one of vegetables — are held with great 
rejoicing in the grounds of the Rectory. Prizes, 
varying from 2s. 6d. to a pinch of white snuff, i.e., 
peppermint lozenges, are offered by the rector, 
gently, and farmers, to the most successful culti- 
vators, and the award of the judges is looked 
forward to, each year, with as much competing 
excitement as the gold and silver Banksian and 
Knightian medals of the metropolis. 

There is, however, one important advantage 
which this Society has over those of London. It 
gives prizes for wild-flowers. As the seasons 

come round, the children of H go into the 

fields to gather wild-flowers, and a faithful record 
is kept and printed, of the parish Flora. Hard 
names, such as " monocotyledonous" and 
" inflorescence" are as familiar to them as 
household words. They are engrafted on the 
memory by their continual practical illustration. 
The spelling-book gives them names equally hard 



and impoi'tant, such as ple-ni-po-ten-ti-a-ry and 
ag-grand-ize-ment ; but as these things are unfa- 
miliar, and have no practical illustration among 
them, they are forgotten almost as soon as learned. 
Of wild-flowers, a prize of Is. and four of 6d. are 
offered for the five best nosegays, not exceeding 
18in. by 12in., prepared by children between eight 
and fourteen years of age, and a prize of Is. and 
two of 6d. for similar nosegays from children 
under eight years of age ; and three prizes of 2s. 
6d., 2s., and Is. 6d., are offered, respectively, to 
the children of the parish school, who shall answer 
best some questions about the local wild-flowers. 

The day arrives, and the village botanists are 
sauntering up the long walk with the produce of 
their rambles. Presently they are buzzing under 
a group of horse-chestnut trees, making up their 
nosegays — eighteen inches by twelve — and anon 
they show them in the exhibition-booth, in the 
quaintest possible stands — from a ginger-beer 
bottle to a cocked-hat — Damon of the time of 
Watteau, with his arms a-kimbo, looking as proud 
of his load as a Linnsean herbalist. Opposite to 
them are arranged the fuchsias, geraniums, roses, 
pinks, stocks, pansies, annuals and perennials, 
nosegays, and device nosegays ; and at the end 
the rustics are peeping with astonishment into a 
polyorama and a stereoscope. 

The giving of each prize is accompanied with 
praises and criticism, according as either is needed. 
The fuchsias are pronounced to be excellent ; the 
pinks not so good. " You must improve their 
cultivation," said the Professor, " by the next 
show. In having such jagged edges they look too 
much like cloves. They look as if they had been 
jumping through the brambles and had torn their 
petticoats." The failing characteristic was under- 
stood in a moment. The wild-flower gatherers 
now stand round to receive their prizes, and to be 
asked questions. It was announced that one little 
girl had added twelve new species to the flora of 

H during the past year; twelve, not brought 

hap-hazard, with a heap of others, but detected 
separately in the field, as not being in the printed 
catalogue, and not hitherto known to the Univer- 
sity Professor of Botany as being inhabitants of 
his parish. Plants from the west of England, not 
before seen by the little botanists, were then shown 
to them, and the class, family, and genus were 
told without hesitation ; and when asked to what 
plant known to them they were related, the allied 
local species was named, though differing in 
general aspect. The plant was determined alone 
by its scientific character. 

The prizes were awarded ; and it did one's 
heart good to see the little bob-curtsey and 
intelligent simper that accompanied it. A pre- 
sent of botanical boxes was promised to be 
given on the morrow. The banquet of tea and 
cake for three hundred horticulturists who had 
taken penny tickets, and a hymn of loyalty and 
grateful interchange of huzzas between master 
and servants, concluded the proceedings. The 
parting adieu is still tinkling gently in our 

But a yet more interesting sight awaited us. 
On the morrow we visited the parish dame-school. 
The forms were crowded with children, the girls 
neat and intelligent, and the boys somewhat 
quaintly clad, and drowsy. As the Professor 

appeared at the door (looking a little quaint in 
his straw hat, with a rough hoe for a walking- 
stick), the pinafored botanists, who seemed^ to 
congregate by instinct, stood up to receive him. 
At one end of the room was a cupboard, contain- 
ing the parish herbarium. It consisted of dried 

specimens of the flora of H , neatly arranged 

and named, and outside on a board hung the 
printed catalogue of reference. Opposite to it 
was a large A,B,C table, and some views of the 
Crystal Palace. At the other end of the room 
was the vivarium, or collection of living specimens. 
Each plant was contained in a separate phial of 
water, and two or three hundred or more, all fully 
labelled, were arranged along the wall in wooden 
shelves drilled for their reception. 

The prizes awarded to the most successful field 
botanists were now brought out for distribution. 
They were of three classes — botanical boxes, 
pocket lenses, and cases of forceps. The little 
villagers received their philosophical instruments 
with a shrewd appreciation of the use of them, 
and brought them to bear on a dissection of the 
products of the day with the dexterity of a 
Hooker or a Lindley. The forceps was lifted to 
separate the sepals and petals ; the lens to examine 
the number of pistils and stamens ; and class, 
order, and genus were determined by the com- 
peting botanists in a moment. " They beat my 
Cambridge boys," said the Professor ; " we don't 
trouble ourselves here about the Artificial system 
of botany : we jump smack to the Natural." 

One little girl had detected a species of reed 
grass new to her. It was new, as occurring in 
this locality, to the Professor. It was new even 
to his own private herbarium, and rare in all 
England. The girls were now examined as to 
the general characters of plants. A specimen was 
held up and systematically pulled to pieces, and 
the questions put were promptly answered in the 
course of the dissection. All we can ourselves 
remember is a lifting of the forceps, a quizzing 
through lenses, a general consultation and whisper- 
ing, and the simultaneous echo now and then of 
such words as 'tetradynamous,' 'hypogynous,' 
' polypetalous,' ' syngenesious,' and the like ; 
learned out of a printed formula, which had proved 
much easier to them than the multiplication table. 
"They beat my Cambridge boys hollow," again 
remarked the Professor, with a smile. 

In conclusion, all kneeled down on the clean 
brick floor, to repeat a short prayer to the gracious 
Giver of plants, that open out spring lessons for 
intelligent minds ; and we went out thoroughly 
impressed with the importance of nature-teaching, 
even in this sequestered pastoral spot. We would 
have given the world at that moment for some 
claim to a share in the blessing that followed the 
reverend Professor home to the Kectory. 

This is philosophy worth talking about. 
It is, indeed, living for a good purpose. If 
the same principle of action were carried out 
in a multitude of other matters, how much 
happier should we be as a nation ! 

The feelings of that Reverend Professor we 
can readily enter into. Oh, that we could 
number many more such " professors" in this 
giddy world of ours ! 





Methinks we should have this engraven 

Where all who are running may read ; 
Where Interest swoops like a raven, 

Eight eager to pounce and to feed. 
Far too often does Honesty dwindle 

In bosoms that fatten on wealth ; 
While Craft, with unsatisfied spindle, 

Sits winding in darkness and stealth. 
It is fair we should ask for our labor 

The recompense Fairness should give ; 
But pause ere we trample a neighbor, — 

For Duty says — " Live and let live." 

Shame to those, who, secure in their thriving, 

Yet fain would keep poorer ones clown — 
Those, who like not the crust of the striving 

To grow to a loaf like their own. 
Shame to those, who for ever are grasping 

At more than one mortal need hold ; 
Whose heart-strings are coiling and clasping 

Eound all that gives promise of gold. 
Shame to those, who with eager attaining 

Are willing to take but not give, 
Whose selfishness — coldly enchaining — 

Forgets it should " live and let live." 

There is room in the world for more pleasure, 

If man would but learn to be just ; 
And regret when his fellow-man's measure 

Euns over with tear-drops and dust. 
God sent us to help one another ; 

And he who neglects the behest, 
Disgraces the milk of his mother 

And spreadeth Love's pall o'er his breast. 
Yes, the spirit that covets unduly 

May well doubt if God will forgive ; 
For Eeligion ne'er preaches more truly, 

Than when she says — "Live and let 



We have recently given some very- 
curious particulars relative to certain Yew 
Trees ; and observing that we have created 
thereby a considerable interest, we are 
anxious to prevent the occurrence of any 
misconception as to any of them being, at 
the present time, " alive and well." 

Much has been said about the yew tree 
in Brabourne Churchyard, Kent. This, it 
appears, is now dead. Connected with 
this, and other celebrated yew trees, Mr. 
W. J. Frampton, of Sandgate, thus writes:— 
I send you, Mr. Editor, the following evi- 
dence respecting the once glorious old yew 
tree in Brabourne churchyard, in this 
county, and which many authors of the 
present day (as I suppose following older 
writers) have unfortunately represented as 
still alive and flourishing. I consider it 
invidious to name any one or two in par- 
ticular, as it is evident how the mistake 
has arisen. 

This being the case in respect of this 
Yew (said to be 3000 years old), may not 
a like error be in print regarding other of 
our old trees ? ex. gr. the Yew at Hedsor, 
Bucks, said to be 27 feet in diameter, and 
3200 years old, or about 160 years older 
than the Trojan War ! Would you not be 
doing the public a grateful service in clearing 
up this matter? 

In a foot-note at page 303 of vol. iii. of the 
folio copy of " History and Topographical 
Survey of the County of Kent, by Edward 
Hasted, of Canterbury, Esq., F.R.S. and S.A. 
1790," is the following : " Mr. Evelyn, in his 
' Discourse on Forest Trees,' page 84, printed 
in 1664, mentions a superannuated yew tree 
growing in this (Brabourne) churchyard, 
which being 58 feet 11 in. in circumference, 
bore nearly 20 feet in diameter, and beside 
which there were goodly planks and other 
considerable pieces of square and clear timber, 
which he observed to lie about it, which had 
been hewed and sawn out of some of the 
arms only, torn from it by impetuous winds. 
This tree has been many years since gone, 
and a fine stately young one now flourishing 
in the room of it." 

From very recent admeasurement of the 
young tree, spoken of as above by Hasted, 
by a surveyor, a friend of mine, resident on 
the spot, and which may be implicitly relied 
on, the height of the present tree is about 
44 feet. The circumference at 1 foot from 
the ground is 9 feet 6 inches ; ditto at 2 feet, 
9 feet 8£ inches ; ditto at 4 feet 2 inches, i.e. 
where the first or lowest branch issues, 10 feet 
7 inches. The diameter of surface covered . 
by the tree is 27 feet. An intelligent old 
lady parishioner, aged over 90 years, never 
remembers the old Yew. The parish records 
are silent on the subject. Parties have for 
a series of years been in the habit of coming 
to examine the old Yew, but of course with 
no success. w. J. Frampton. 

Sandgate, Aug. 6. 


" No more !" — What pain and anguish lie 

Within that simple sound ; 
What wither'd hopes and faded joys 

May in those words be found ! 
" No more " to see the forms we love, 

" No more'" the voice to hear 
That fell as balm upon the mind, 

As music on the ear. 

" No more " to watch the buoyant step, 

" No more " with her to rove ; 
" No more " to see the soft bright eye 

Beam on us looks of love. 
" No more " to see the witching smile, 

To feel that all is o'er, — 
Oh ! the sad bitterness that lies 

Within those words — "No More!" 




An eagle, towering in his pride of place, 
Was by a mousing- owl hawk'd at, and kill'd. 



the people, it is not to be 
wondered at if some few 
adopt "notions " that may 
justly be termed singular. / 
have a notion that nothing 
can be more singular than 
the idea " some people" have 
of Condescension. What a patronising term ! 
I have heard, Mr. Editor, that when a 
goose passes under an arch, or through a 
door- way, of whatever altitude, it always 
stoops. This, I suppose, is condescension ; 
and, to say truth, wherever I have seen 
an ostentation of condescension, it has re- 
minded me of geese. 

There is a great deal of fun, and some 
little philosophy, in condescension. The fun 
of it is, that the person condescending must 
first lift himself up to his greatest height, in 
order to show how low he can stoop. Hike 
to hear of learned men " condescending " to 
the capacities of children — just as if learned 
men had forgotten their ABC, and could 
talk nothing but Greek and Hebrew ! Why, 
there is not one among them who does not 
understand Cinderella better than he does 

I am no leveller ; I am a decided believer 
in the beauty and utility of rank. I also 
like courtesy, affability, and politeness ; but 
when the word condescension is mentioned, 
I am always inclined to laugh. When Tony 
Lumpkin, as set forth in the pleasant comedy 
" She Stoops to Conquer," gives the benefit 
and blessing of his company to the swillers 
of swipes at the public-house, he is very 
condescending : yet I quite sympathise with 
Mrs. Hardcastle in her reprobation of such 
unbecoming familiarity. But when you see 
the party assembled, and hear their con- 
versation, you do not think much of the 
condescension of Tony. Moreover, un- 
happily for Tony's own dignity, he does not 
seem to be aware of it himself. The party 
would willingly pay him homage, but he 
seems hardly inclined to relish it ; he 
wishes to be quite at his ease — which a 
condescending person in such circumstances 
never is. 

Condescension, in its true and most ex- 
quisitely ludicrous state, has a kind of noli 
me tangere air about it. It is like oil on 
water — it never amalgamates with the baser 
fluid. The genuine condescender has a kind 
of elasticity about him, by means of which 
he can presently raise himself up again to 
the natural level of his dignity ; like those 
monkeys who, with a kind of hook to the 

end of their tails, can presently spring from 
the ground into a tree or on to a perch. 
Tony Lumpkin's condescension was a 
thorough down-letting of his dignity — a 
total oblivion of his rank. He could not re- 
sume his dignity at a moment's notice ; he 
not only forgot his own superiority, but 
seemed to wish that others should forget it 
too. This, you observe, is different from 
right-earnest condescension, which aims at 
uniting, for the time, the great and the small, 
the high and the low ; and which would shud- 
der, and almost die with mortification, should 
its greatness seem for a moment to be for- 
gotten. Tony Lumpkin, in his condescen- 
sion, if we may so call it, did not so much 
enjoy his greatness as he enjoyed getting 
rid of it ; but regular condescension is one 
of the highest luxuries of greatness. 

All greatness is apprehended by com- 
parison; we never feel how great we are 
till we bring our greatness into contact 
with another's littleness. When Gulliver 
dwelt in England previously to his voyage 
to Lilliput, he was not sensible of his 
greatness of body ; but when he dwelt 
among the Lilliputians, he felt himself to 
be a marvellously-great man indeed. Thus 
it is with such as condescend ; they come 
from such a height to such a depth, that 
they are wholly astounded at once at their 
own greatness and at others' littleness. 

The pleasure of condescension is so great, 
that many seek for the enjoyment of it 
whom we should not at first sight think 
likely to have opportunity or room for its 
exercise. In Boswell's Life of Johnson, 
mention is made of a funeral sermon which 
had been preached for the wife or widow of 
some cheesemonger in Tooley-street, or Ber- 
mondsey ; in which, amongst other laudatory 
topics, it was recorded, to the honor of the 
deceased, that she was remarkable for her 
condescension to her inferiors. On which 
Dr. Johnson remarked, that " there might 
be some little difficulty in ascertaining who 
her inferiors were." The doctor was more 
obtuse of perception than was the cheese- 
monger's wife, who had no difficulty whatever 
in ascertaining the point. 

Condescension is a luxury, the enjoyment 
of which is happily not confined to any one 
gradation of society. Every goose is tall 
enough to stoop. There is no condition in 
which a man may not have some fear of de- 
gradation and down-letting of his dignity, 
or in which he may not show some gracious 
condescension to his inferiors. And all the 
beauty of his arrangement is owing to what 
some people may think a defect, viz. — the un- 
definedness of dignity, and that ad libitum 
which suffers so many to place themselves as 
they will or can, aided by the various points 
of comparison ; so that though there may 

Vol. IV.— 6. 



be inferiority in some things, there may- 
be superiority in others. Thus no individual 
is the lowest ; for he that is low in some 
respects is high in others. 

When I was a little boy, I was at a very 
great school — great, I mean, in point of num- 
bers ; and when we walked to church, our 
arrangement was not according to literary 
merit or proficiency, but according to height ; 
so that we might thereby look more uniform 
in the public eye. There were also two 
other classifications — viz., the classification 
according to penmanship, and the classifica- 
tion according to general literature or gram- 
matical attainments. Thus there was a 
pleasant and amusing variety of rank ; and 
we were sometimes as puzzled to settle points 
of precedency and etiquette, as any little 
party in a country town ; for it was seldom 
that height, writing, and grammar were in 
the same proportion. One was before another 
in measuring ; and another took precedence 
in writing, but wanting height ; while a third 
might be an excellent grammar scholar, but 
neither a penman nor a Colossus. So, by 
these means, we all of us had more or less 
the pleasure of looking down upon one 
another ; and all of us could enjoy, if we 
wished it, the pleasure of condescension. 
Dr. Johnson was therefore manifestly wrong, 
in doubting whether the wife of a cheese- 
monger in Tooley-street was capable of con- 
descending ; or whether there were anypersons 
who might properly be called her inferiors. 

It would be indeed a sad and cruel thing, 
if a man should feel that all were condescend- 
ing to him, and that he himself could be con- 
descending to nobody — because nobody was 
inferior to him. To be the first in society, 
though attended with some inconveniences, 
is still rather an object of ambition; there- 
fore the first may be safely defined, but to 
be the last is too painful ; and the Herald's 
Office, in mercy to mankind, leaves that 
point to be settled by those whom it may 
concern. Therefore it never is settled ; and so 
the pleasure of condescension may be en- 
joyed by all. 

The virtue of condescension is so exceed- 
ingly amiable and interesting, that one can- 
not help wishing to imitate it ; and we 
naturally look out for our inferiors, in order 
to have the pleasure of gratifying them by 
our condescension, as much as we have been 
gratified by the condescension of our su- 
periors. It is observable how very conde- 
scending and patronising are the servants and 
dependants of the great. From observing 
the manners of their masters, and mistresses, 
and patrons, they gain the same air, and im- 
bibe the same feelings. In order to manifest 
condescension, as we have said above, there 
should be, of necessity, a sense or apprehen- 
sion of greatness ; thus these domestics and 

dependants generally cultivate this feeling of 
greatness with much diligence and success. 
A greater or more condescending man than 
a great man's porter, you do not often meet 
withal; and many a king upon a throne 
grants an audience to, or receives homage 
from, a most devoted and most humble sub- 
ject, with far less of the pomp of condescen- 
sion than a great man's porter gives audience 
to a man in a seedy coat. 

Yet, perhaps, after all, the completest 
condescension is that of a great boy at school 
to a little one. I know a man who, about 
thirty years ago, was first boy at our school ; 
and he has told me more than once — and I 
dare say that, if we live to grow old, he will 
tell me a hundred times more, that his sense 
of greatness at that time was so absurdly 
strong, that he could absolutely contain no 
more, and that he was nearly bursting with 
pride. Yet he was marvellously condescend- 
ing ; and I do verily believe, that if her 
most gracious Majesty, Victoria, of Great 
Britain and Ireland, Queen, Defender of the 
Faith, &c. &c, should walk arm-in-arm with 
me in Pall- Mall or St. James's Park, I should 
not think more highly of the condescension 
than I did of the condescension of the young 
gentleman above alluded to. 

We can never perhaps enjoy condescension 
so completely as in early life ; before we have 
thoroughly ascertained the meaning and full 
force of the word ' great ' — omne ignotum pro 
magnifico ; and before we know what great- 
ness is, we think it a marvellously-magnifi- 
cent thing. After all, the game of conde- 
scension, like all other games, requires two to 
play at it ; but unlike all other games, it is 
best played at by those who understand it 
least ; for, when it is thoroughly understood 
by both parties, it is rather too broad a 
farce, and carried on with a serious face. 

I very much admire the churchwarden's 
wife who went to church for the first time 
in her life, when her husband was church- 
warden. Being somewhat late, the congre- 
gation were getting up from their knees at 
the time she entered, and she said, with a 
sweetly condescending smile — " Pray keep 
your seats, ladies and gentlemen ; I think no 
more of myself now than I did before." 

D. 0. T. 


What language lurks beneath a glance ! 
Their eyes but met, and then were turned aside. 
It was enough ! That mystic eloquence, 
Unheard, yet visible, is plainly felt, 
And tells what else were incommunicable. 
It is the voiceless language which the stars 
Speak to each other in the quiet night ! 

[This is a sweet commentary on the sentiments 
to which we are so often giving utterance.] 




The Sun was shining warm and bright, 
when I peeped from my chamber window at 
the "Fox and Hounds." There had been 
rain during the night; and every bush and 
plant within sight was hung with innumerable 
crystal drops, which sparkled and glittered in 
the sun's early beams, like so many liquid 
pearls, as the soft wind waved them to and 
fro. It was a beautiful sight. But I always 
view these bright clear mornings with dis- 
trust ; for I scarcely ever knew a fine day to 

Unlike our gracious Queen, T am very 
unfortunate with regard to the weather ; sel- 
dom returning home without a wet jacket. 
Even as I gazed, dark clouds appeared above 
the summit of the wood. However, down 
stairs I went ; and, having armed myself with 
the necessary entomological weapons, I 
bounded forth into the open air. 

There is something peculiarly beautiful in 
the early morning. It is then that the song 
of birds, or the hum of that early little riser, 
the bee, is alone borne on the breeze, — 
when yet the air is untainted with the smoky 
breath of the city, and the dew yet lingers on 
the perfumed flowers. 

Arrived in the wood, I was greeted by the 
melodious song of the nightingale, whilst ever 
and anon came from afar the cuckoo's plaintive 
note. The ground and trees were miserably 
wet. Both, however, as the morning ad- 
vanced, became tolerably dry. The clouds 
passed away ; and, for once, I concluded I 
was, with regard to the weather, to be agree- 
ably disappointed. 

The first insect I met with was the speckled 
yellow Venilia Macularia ; the next was the 
Maiden's Blush. I beat, beat, beat, till my 
arms grew weary. Nothing would stir save 
those eternal speckled yellows, and at length 
I returned to the " Fox and Hounds " without 
the satisfaction of having taken a single in- 
sect. Here, however, I was consoled by the 
sight of a good breakfast, to which I consider 
I did justice — albeit the tea was none of the 
best ; but then new-laid eggs (some laid by 
Mr. Martin's own hens), and mild ham, are 
wonderful provocatives to the appetite. 

While makhig myself intimately acquainted 
with these good things, the sun suddenly 
ceased to shine, the sky became overcast, and 
shortly, as I had expected, down came the 
rain. True it is it did not last long, but there 
was quite enough to render the herbage as 
miserably wet as before. As soon as the sun 
shone forth, I again made my way up the 
steep and narrow lane, to one of the many 
choice spots in this fine wood. The ground 
was literally carpeted with the blossoms of 
the Ground Ivy (Glechoma Hederacea) ; Bugle 
(Ajuga Reptans) ; and Wood Spurge ; round 

which latter flower, numbers of Dipiera and 
Hymenoptera were constantly hovering. But 
here again I was doomed to disappointment. 
My captures were limited to a few specimens 
of Melitia Euphrosyne. 

Here and there, on the edges of the path- 
ways, were clusters of that beautiful sweet- 
scented little flower, the Woodniff (Asperula 
Odorata) ; and by its side the meek, white 
flowers of the Wood Strawberry (Fragaria 
Vesca). By beating, 1 took one specimen of 
Jephtha's daughter, one of Macaria Nota- 
taria ; one of Thera Veriaria ; one of Strenia 
Clathraria ; and several of the Birch Ingrail, 
from the trunks of the trees. These con- 
clude my list of important (!) captures. I 
searched long for, but could not obtain, a 
single specimen of Nemeobius Lucina and 
Thecla Rubi, and during the search narrowly 
escaped a drenching, which, had it not been 
for a woodcutter's hut, I should most certainly 
have caught. 

In several places the ground was blue with 
the Wild Hyacinth, a white variety of which 
I not unfrequently observed. Peeping out 
from the shade of the trees, I noticed the frail 
Wood Sorrel {Oxalis Acetoselld) ; but this 
sweet flower is rather scarce here — the 
Forget-me-not, the Stitch wort (Holostea Stel- 
laria), the Cranesbill, the Dog Violet, the 
Ragged Robin, and in the clearings, the green 
Tway blade {Listera Ovata), and the Brown- 
winged Orchis (Orchis Fused) — this latter I 
am not certain about — besides many others 
that my limited knowledge of botany will 
not allow me to name. 

The weather still continuing showery, and 
seeing no hope of better luck, I again re- 
turned to the " Fox and Hounds ;" and having 
refreshed myself with a capital dinner, I bent 
my steps homeward. Here I will leave the 
reader ; as this part of my excursion is even 
more dry and uninteresting than the relation 
of " A May Ramble in Darenth Wood." 

Hackney, August 16. 

C. Miller. 


All things are touch'd with melancholy, — 
Born of the secret soul's mistrust, 
To feel her fair ethereal wings 
Weigh'd down with vile degraded dust. 
Even the bright extremes of joy 
Bring on conclusions of disgust, — 
Like the sweet blossom of the May, 
Whose fragrance ends in must. 
Oh, give her, then, her tribute just ; 
Her sighs and tears, and musings holy ! 
There is no music in the life 
That sounds with idiot laughter solely. 
There's not a string attuned to mirth 
But has its chord in melancholy. 

Tom Hood. 




The music ceased ; the last quadrille was o'er — 
And one by one the waning beauties fled ; 

The garlands vanished from the frescoed floor, 
The nodding fiddler hung his weary head. 

And I — a melancholy single man — 

Retired to mourn my solitary fate. 
I slept awhile ; but o'er my slumbers ran 

The sylph-like image of my blooming Kate. 

I dre mt of mutual love, and Hymen's joys, 
Of happy moments and connubial blisses ; 

And then I thought of little girls and boys, — 
The mother's glances, and the infant's kisses. 

I saw them all, in sweet perspective sitting 
In winter's eve around a blazing fire ; 

The children playing and the mother knitting, 
Or fondly gazing on the happy Sire. 

The scene was changed — in came the Baker's 

I stared to see the hideous consummation 
Of pies and puddings that it took to fill 

The stomachs of the rising generation. 

There was no end to eating : — legs of mutton 
Were vanquished daily by this little host ; 

To see them, you'd have thought each tiny 
Had laid a wager who could eat the most. 

The massy pudding smoked upon the platter ; 

The ponderous sirloin raised its head in vain ; — 
The little urchins kicked up such a clatter, 

That scarce a remnant e'er appeared again. 

Then came the School bill: — Board and Edu- 

So much per annum ; but the extras mounted 
To nearly twice the primal stipulation, 

And every little bagatelle was counted ! 

" To mending tuck; — a new Homeri Ilias; — ■ 
A pane of glass ; — Repairing coat and b- 

A slate and pencil; — Binding old Virgilius; — 
Drawing a tooth ; — An open draft and leeches." 

And now I languished for the single state, 
The social glass, a quiet day on Sunday, 

The jaunt to Windsor with my own sweet Kate, 
And raved against the weekly bills on Monday. 

Here Kate began to scold,— I stampt the more ; 

The kittens squeak, the children loudly scream; 
And thus awaking with the wild uproar, 

I thanked my stars that it was — but a dream. 

D. 0. T. 


Our woes 
Are like the moon reversed — the broad bright disk 
Turned Heavenwards — the dark side towards us, 
Till God in His great mercy moves them round 
And rolls them with a wise and gentle hand 
Into the dim horizon of the past, 
To bless us with their smile of tearful lustre. 

J. S. Bigg. 






residing at Barnsley, some very interesting 
particulars relative to the extraordinary 
Snow-storm of May last, which committed 
such sad ravages in the south-west of York- 
shire, and the bordering counties westward. 

Such a storm occurring in the month of 
May, was never, it would appear, known 
before. Very voluminous details were pub- 
lished at the time by the local journals, but 
the subjoined additional particulars, from the 
Diary of Mr. T. Lister, will, we feel sure, be 
read with an increased feeling of curiosity — 
more especially as they embody many inter- 
esting remarks about birds, flowers, and vege- 
tation generally. 

May 9. — The barometer sank from 29'30 Q yes- 
terday to 2915 Q and 29°. Through the early 
hours of morning showers were continuous, which 
gradually changed to snow, increasing in the heavi- 
ness of the flakes towards noon, and continuing 
without intermission until late at night. Passen- 
gers, vehicles, roofs of houses, trees, everything 
was literally covered with a thick, snowy mantle. 

May 10. — This morning the streets and houses 
are deeply enveloped in snow. The depth around 
the town is estimated at from nine inches to one 
foot, increasing in a westward direction towards 
the moors. At Stainbro', it is reported to lie from 
fifteen to eighteen inches; at Thurgoland, two 
feet ; at Penistone, with careful measurement, it 
was found to be a depth of two feet three inches ; 
and in many places above one yard. On the Derby- 
shire side of the great backbone of England, it is 
stated to be from three to four feet. The wind 
was changeable during the fall of this snow-storm, 
blowing from the N.E. by N. and N.W. at intervals. 
The extent to which the snow was mainly confined, 
was, in this district, on each side of the Moorland 
ridge, thinning off to the eastward towards Ponte- 
fract, scarcely extending to Wakefield northward, 
nor Chesterfield southward, nor Doncaster south- 
east ; the snow changing to rain in these directions. 
The damage to trees has been immense. The 
birch and the beech, with their numerous leafy 
sprays, and the budding oaks, have suffered the 
most in the woods about hei*e. But the injury 
sustained here, is nothing to compare with the west 
and south-west districts. The woods of F. V. 
Wentworth, Esq., at Stainbro', and those of Lord 
Wharncliffe, at Wortley and Wharncliffe, suffered 
to the extent of thousands of pounds loss. Heavy 
losses have been sustained in the quantities of sheep 
that have perished. Such a snow-storm in May is 
not remembered by the oldest amongst us ; and by 
few, indeed, at any period of the year. The quan- 
tity of water in the rain-guage, on the roof of the 
post-office, indicated a fall to the unprecedented 
extent of two inches, and probably there would be 
some waste in the flakes of snow being blown from 
the receiver previous to melting. 

May 11. — Took the first opportunity of getting 



out since the stomi occurred, anxious to ascertain 
the fate of my feathered favorites, in this unlooked- 
for visitation of churlish winter. The effects have 
been serious to the nesting birds, particularly the 
ground-builders, as larks, grouse, &c. A handsome 
cock whinchat had been brought to me, starved to 
death, and numbers of eggs were found cold in the 
deserted nests. To my great surprise, on passing 
down the fields to the Old Mill, I found the birds 
were neither chilled into torpitude, nor voiceless. 
The tree pipit, green linnet, and storm-cock, were 
singing merrily about the gardens and fields. The 
snow was fast melting away from the neighboring 
slopes, but laid white and cold on the distant hills ; 
there having been a partial frost during both nights 
after the snow. An unusually large flood had filled 
the Deame valley. The water still covered the 
Fleets like a miniature lake. Eooks, skylarks, 
meadow pipits, swallows and thrushes, were flying 
over the waters, or picking up insects or worms on 
patches which the flood had left. On the near 
bushes, the whinchat, the sedge warbler, the willow 
wren, and the jenny wren were singing merrily ; 
and in the Cliff Wood, lower down, the blackbird, 
the whitethroat, and the blackcap, were tuning 
their mellow pipes ; as if no unseasonable visitation 
had but a few hours before taken place, leaving 
its traces still on the fresh leaves and blossoms of 

May 16. — I accompanied the Temperance Pro- 
cession to Stainbro' Park. The visitors were, as 
usual, not numerous in the fore part of the day ; 
but before evening were estimated at 1,500 to 
2,000. The amount taken at the gates, at the 
small admission fee, was near £15, leaving a profit 
of £7 clear, towards the beneficent object of the 
society. The day was as fine as could be desired 
for this exhilarating and rational mode of spending 
Whitsun holidays. 

In sad contrast to this genial weather, and the 
budding promises of summer, were the devastating 
traces of the late heavy snow-storm. The fine 
beech trees we had so much admired the week 
before, — one below the canal partially leafed, and 
the one a little beyond the bridge, which we had 
contemplated as a perfect model of this noble tree, 
so ample in bulk, the trunk being about twelve feet 
in diameter, and so graceful in the proportion of its 
bold, leafy branches, — exhibited now a sad wreck 
of their former beauty and stateliness. In taking 
the round of the park, to preserve order among the 
" irregulars " always mingling in such companies, 
restraining the juveniles from pelting the swans, 
or running the timid hares and deer, — I found 
constant traces of the devastating storm. 

The branches of many trees of the rookeries 
in the menagerie, and amid the tall oaks near 
Queen Anne's Lodge, were broken down by the 
weight of snow, increased by the quantity of nests 
they supported. In many cases, the branches, 
nests, and young birds, had come down in a confused 
mass. The ravages made on the trees near the 
Gamekeeper's cottage were still greater ; but this 
was said to be nothing to the destruction experi- 
enced in the woods about Kockley. The splendid 
avenues of beeches, the admiration of all beholders, 
had many of their finest branches — some of them 
comparable to trees in themselves — fairly borne 
down on all sides by the superincumbent masses 

of snow. It was, therefore, with feelings of pain 
and pleasure, that the diversified scenes of this 
fine park were surveyed on that day — pain at the 
devastation produced by one day's snow — pleasure 
in the sight of the fair flowers and trees bursting 
into vernal beauty, as if eager to outgrow and 
efface, by their luxuriance, the temporary check 
that vegetation had sustained. It was truly the 
union of the hopefulness of spring with the ravages 
of winter — emblematic of human life, with its 
smiles and tears, its mingled sorrows and joys. 

I had little leisure to search for rare birds ; the 
nuthatch abounded in the pleasure-grounds. The 
pied flycatcher was yet invisible, as on my last 
visit. The late cold, changeful weather, may have 
retarded its arrival in this its only haunt in our 
neighborhood. Beyond the temple, I saw some 
boys pelting what they called "jinties," one of 
their names for the jenny wren. 1 soon perceived 
that they were the tree-creepers, running busily 
around the boles of the huge oaks. I let the lads 
see them through the telescope ; the amusement of 
which softened down their persecuting instinct 
into a sort of admiration for these tiny interesting 
creatures. The Gamekeeper, who had supplied me 
with some eggs of daws and other birds, had re- 
served for me the eggs of what he called the blue 
hawk, which he, with the fatal antipathy of his 
profession, had shot on the nest, but not captured. 
Comparing them with Morris's colored plates, I 
ascertained at once that they belonged to the 
sparrow-hawk, the blue tint on the back of the 
male bird gaining it the above title. It could be 
no other bird ; as the blue hawk, the hen harrier, 
setting aside the color of the eggs, would not have 
been found here — it having become, with many 
more of its doomed race, extinct in this country, 
owing to the rapacity of scientific collectors, and 
the undying hate of game protectors. 

This keeper maintains that the kestrel preys on 
birds as well as mice. He is backed out by others 
of his class, one of whom states that he has seen 
the kestrel devouring a partridge : unless the mer- 
lin or hobby, both of which occur, though rarely, 
in this part, has been mistaken for this bird, the 
statement is at variance with the views of most 
writers. I lean to the book opinion, that with 
respect to destroying game, this hawk is as harm- 
less as it is handsome, 

We have also the testimony of the most 
observing field-naturalist, Waterton, as to its harm- 
lessness, and utility to the farmer and landed pro- 
prietor. The excellent remarks of his, quoted in 
the article on Persecuted Animals by Dr. Morris, 
editor of the Naturalist, appearing in Kidd's 
pleasing Journal of Natural History, are 
surely sufficient to settle this point, both with the 
learned and unlearned world. 

What with vulgar prejudices, and wanton de- 
structiveness towards eggs and birds, encouraged 
instead of being checked by the scientific in their 
over-anxiety for making collections, and a grudging 
jealousy of losing a few brace of game, — our hawks 
and eagles will follow the fate of the vanishing 
bittern and extinct bustard ; and instead of being 
admired in their living state, be known only to a 
future race, like the dinorsis of New Zealand, by 
their wasting skeletons. 

T. Lister, 




"Whoso findeth a good wife, findeth a good thing. 

We have not failed to acknowledge 
on several occasions, the obligations we have 
been under to a certain writer in " Bentley's 
Miscellany " for a smart hint or two on the 
present alarming state of society. 

Again do we register our friend's happ} 7- 
thoughts, — and this time, his arrow is levelled 
at Modern Education. He has cleft the bull's- 
eye right in twain. Listen ! — ■ 

Look here ! behold these twenty-seven adver- 
tisements from people wanting pnpils; the 
greatest drug in the advertising market is edu- 
cation. We are too clever by half now-a-days ; 
everybody, in their own opinion, can teach any- 
body. Here's a lot of knowledge for twenty 
guineas a year, extras included ! French, German, 
washing, board, lodging, music, drawing, Calis- 
thenics — what's that ? — geometry, arithmetic, and 
the use of the globes ? Why, its dog cheap — too 
much by half for the money. Old Peacham in 
''The Beggar's Opera," who wondered how any 
man alive should ever rear a daughter, must, with 
respect, have been a fool; when daughters can be 
instructed in everything for nothing, we wonder 
who wouldn't rear scores of daughters if he could 
get them off his hands. 

But there's the difficulty ; for, when a man 
comes to choose a wife in this worky-day world, 
his object, in nine cases out of ten, is to get a 
woman who will strive to make a shilling do 
duty for eighteenpence, who will attend to her 
household, watch over her family, and not be above 
doing her duty ; and we think we can see in 
these multifarious accomplishments of the present 
day, and the necessary neglect of that solid prac- 
tical education which gives woman a position of 
utility, the reasons why daughters, now-a-days, are 
stock slow of sale, and apt to hang heavily on 

Who on earth, unless he be a fool, or a man of 
fortune, can abide to sit down to an ill-dressed 
dinner in a slatternly house, with the bitter relish 
for his victuals from the knowledge that his "lady," 
at a five-and-twenty pound boarding-school, has 
acquired an appreciable quantity of French, Italian, 
German, Calisthenics (which I suppose is some 
other outlandish lingo), geometry, or globes ? 
Pickling, preserving, cooking, making and repair- 
ing her children's dresses and her own, and a 
knowledge of the use and economy of money, are 
things a marrying man can understand and appre- 
ciate, particularly if he is under the necessity, as 
most of us are, of earning his own bread ; and this, 
I think, is the reason that sundry friends of ours, 
despising boarding-school accomplishments, airs, 
and graces, have gone down to the country, and 
brought up wives who had learned by experience 
of their respectable mothers, the art of presiding 
over a " comfortable home," and who — to their 
credit be it spoken — don't know the difference 
between the Italian and Irish, or could not distin- 
guish Calisthenics from Carlotta Grisi. 

Our friend is a bold man, to speak heretical 
language such as this. Fashion strictly 

prohibits any young lady to shine in the 
useful or domestic arts. People of the 
present day see no charms in a quiet, "happy 
home ;" and as to the term "domestic wife" — 
woe be to him who has the temerity to utter 
it in "genteel" society! His sentence would 
be banishment, from that day forward. 

It seems sad to us, that the word " domestic" 
should be*so universally despised. Nor can 
we see any just cause for a man or woman 
being so thoroughly hated for their being 
" home-birds." 

There are some points on which we set 
Fashion at defiance. Those we have hinted 
at are among the number. With our dying 
breath, we shall sing of 

Home ! — sweet Home ! 

and seek no " fashionable" hand to close our 


The world is full of Poetry. The air 
Is living with its spirit. The waves, too, 
Dance to the music of its melodies, 
And sparkle in its brightness. 


It is with the Poet's creations as 
with NATUPtE's, — great or small, wherever 
truth and beauty can be shaped into verse, 
and answer to some demand for it in our 
hearts, there poetry is to be found ; whether 
in productions grand and beautiful — as some 
great event, or some mighty, leafy solitude, 
or no bigger and more pretending than a sweet 
face or a bunch of violets — whether in Ho- 
mer's Epic or Gray's Elegy, in the enchanted 
gardens of Ariosto and Spenser, or the very 
pot-herbs of the " Schoolmistress" of Shen- 
stone. Not to know and feel this, is to be 
deficient in the universality of Nature herself, 
who calls upon us to admire all her pro- 

What the poet has to cultivate above all 
things is — love and truth. What he has 
to avoid like poison is — the fleeting and the 
false. His earnestness must be innate and 
habitual ; born with him, and felt to be his 
most precious inheritance. 

Treatises on Poetry may chance to have 
auditors who think themselves called upon 
to vindicate the superiority of what is termed 
useful knowledge ; but if the poet be allowed 
to pique himself on any one thing more than 
another, compared with those who undervalue 
him, it is on that powder of undervaluing 
nobody and no attainments different from 
his own, which is given him by the very 
faculty they despise. The greatest includes 
the less. They do not see that their inability 
to comprehend him argues the smaller 

No man recognises the worth of utility 
more than the poet ; he only desires that the 



meaning of the terra may not come short of 
its greatness, and exclude the noblest neces- 
sities of his fellow-creatures. He is quite as 
much pleased, for instance, with the facilities 
for rapid conveyance afforded him by the 
railroad, as the dullest confmer of its advan- 
tages to that single idea — or as the greatest 
two-idea'd man who varies that single idea 
with hugging himself on his " buttons" or a 
" good dinner." But he sees also the beauty 
of the country through which he passes ; of 
the towns ; of the Heavens ; of the steam- 
engine itself, thundering and fuming along 
like a magic horse ; of the affections that are 
carrying, perhaps, half the passengers on the 
journey. And beyond all this, he sees the 
incalculable amount of good, and knowledge, 
and refinement, and mutual consolation, 
which this wonderful invention is fitted to 
circulate over the globe, — perhaps to the 
displacement of war itself, and certainly to 
the diffusion of enjoyment to millions. 

" And a button-maker, after all, invented 
it ! " cries a friend. Pardon me, it was a 
nobleman. A button-maker may be a very 
sensible and a very poetical man too, and 
yet not have been the first man visited by a 
sense of the gigantic powers of fire and water 
combined. It was a nobleman who first 
thought of it ; a captain who first tried it ; 
and a button-maker who perfected it : and 
he who first put the nobleman on such 
thoughts, was the great philosopher Bacon, 
who said that " poetry had something divine 
in it," and was necessary to the satisfaction 
of the human mind. — Leigh Hunt. 


The following verses by Tennyson are taken 
from the London Literary Gem, published in 
1831. They have not appeared in any of the 
volumes of Tenayson's Poems : — 
Oh, sad No more ! Oh, sweet No more 1 

Oh, strange No more I 
By a moss brook-bank, on a stone, 
I smelt a wild- weed flower alone ; 
There was a ringing in my ears, 
And both my eyes gushed out with tears. 
Surely, all pleasant things had gone before, 
Low buried fathom deep beneath with thee, 
No more! A. T. 

"With roses musky breathed, 
And drooping daffodilly, 
And silver-leaved lily, 
And ivy darkly wreathed, 
I wove a crown before her — 
For her I love so dearly — ■ 
A garland for Lenora. 
With a silken cord I bound it. 
Lenora, laughing clearly 
A light and thrilling laughter, 
About her forehead wound it, 
And loved me ever after. A. T. 



We met, — when Fortune's smile was free ; 

When Love, and Hope, and Joy were young, 
And pleasures in variety 

Across our happy path were flung. 

And, in the joyousness of youth, 
How fondly did our hearts agree ! 

We seal'd a sacred bond of truth, 
And sang of Love and Constancy. 

Life seemed a long unclouded day, 

Where Truth and Justice reign'd supreme ; 

And weary hours pass'd away 

Like phantoms in a restless dream. 

And cheerfully we bade adieu 

To follow Fortune's destiny ; 
For Happiness was still in view, 

To cherish Love and Constancy. 

Years pass'd away ; again we met, 
Possess'd of many an anxious care ; 

And sorrows we could ne'er forget 
Had made the path of life less fair. 

But, in the darkest, dreariest hour, 
The star of Hope shone brilliantly ; 

And Love, by its resplendent power, 
Claim'd the reward of Constancy. 


No person can have FAILED to remark the 
vast number of young men whose heads are com- 
paratively bald. We have often imagined this 
to proceed from their manner of living ; smoking 
and spirit-drinking being so inimical to a healthy 
constitution, and tending so greatly to sap the 
springs of life. Our contemporary, the Quarterly 
Review, takes a different view of the case. Per- 
haps we may, together, have worked out the sha- 
dow of a correct idea as to the " why and because." 

Our contemporary says : — From some one 
cause or other, baldness seems to befall much 
younger men now, than it did 30 or 40 years 
ago. A very observant hatter informed us a 
short time since, that he imagined much of it 
was owing to the common use of silk bats, which, 
from the impermeability to the air, keep the head 
at a much higher temperature than the old 
beaver structures, which, he also informed us, went 
out principally because we had used up all the 
beavers in the Hudson Bay Company's territories. 
The adoption of silk hats hap, however, given them 
time, it seems, to replenish the breed. This fact 
affords a singular instance of the influence of 
fashion upon the animals of a remote continent. 
It would be more singular still, if the silk hat 
theory of baldness has any truth in it ; it would 
then turn out that we were sacrificing our own 
national nap that the beaver may recover his. 

Without endorsing the speculative opinion of 
our hatter, we may, we believe, state it as a well- 
ascertained circumstance, that soldiers in hel- 
meted regiments are oftener bald than any other 
of our heroic defenders. We may add to this, 
that baldness is, most assuredly, an hereditary 



Blue against the more blue Heavens 
Stood the mountain calm and still ; 

Two white angels, bending earthward, 
Leant upon the hill. 

Listening leant those silent angels ; 

And I also longed to hear — 
What sweet strain of earthly music 

Thus could charm their ear. 

I heard the sound of many trumpets, 
And a warlike march draw nigh ; 

Solemnly a mighty army 
Passed in order by. 

But the clang had ceased ; the echoes 
Soon had faded from the hill — 

While the angels, calm and earnest, 
Leant and listened still. 

Then I heard a fainter clamor ; 

Forge and wheel were clashing near : 
And the reapers in the meadow 

Sang both loud and clear. 

When the sunset came in glory, 
And the toil of day was o'er, 

Still the angels leant in silence, — 
Listening as before. 

Then, as daylight slowly vanished, 
And the evening mists grew dim, 

Solemnly from distant voices 
Kose a vesper hymn. 

But the chant was done ; and, lingering, 

Died upon the evening air ; 
Yet, from the hill, the radiant angels 

Still were listening there. 

Silent came the gathering darkness, 
Bringing with it sleep and rest ; 

Save a little bird was singing, 
In her leafy nest. 

Through the sounds of war and labor 
She had warbled all day long ; 

While the angels leant and listened 
Only to her song. 

But the starry night was coming, 
And she ceased her little lay — 

From the mountain-top the angels 
Slowly passed away ! 

From " Household Words" 


Take Notice ! — If a man give you a black 
eye, you make him pay for it ; but if he put out 
your eye, you get nothing. Whatever is taken 
from him, goes nominally to the Queen ; really to 
John Stokes or Jack Noakes, who has no concern 
at all in the matter. 

If a man kill your pig, you get the value of it. 
But if he kill your wife or your child, you get 
nothing. If anything is got out of him, it goes 
to a stranger as before. 

A man sets your house on fire. If by misfortune, 
you receive amends ; if through malice, you receive 
nothing, — Bentham. 

[When simple truths are printed in naked array, 
how very eloquently they speak !] 


Whilst walking down the principal 
avenue of Covent-Garden Market, and gazing 
upon certain extraordinary exhibitions of 
early fruit, flowers, &c, it has often puzzled 
us to imagine for whom all these unnatural 
things were intended. Connected with this 
subject, is an article in " Household Words." 
As it clears up the doubtful point, existing 
not only in our mind, but in the minds pro- 
bably of some thousands of individuals, we 
extract the final paragraphs pro bono : — 

Centre Row is awake and open now ; but what 
may I find here that all the world does not know ? 
1 have been through Centre Row hundreds of 
times in summer and winter, and wondered who 
were the wealthy luxurious individuals who did 
not hesitate to pamper themselves with hothouse 
grapes at twenty-five shillings a pound, with 
pottles of British Queens or Black Princes at one 
shilling an ounce, with slender French beans at 
three shillings a hundred, peas at two pounds a 
quart, and new potatoes at four shillings and six- 
pence a pound ; and never knew till now that they 
are mostly bought by kindly friends as " a sur- 
prise " for invalids and sickly and afflicted persons. 
It was worth walking through here to know that. 

I never knew till now, that the fruiterers here 
(who seem to be always having tea or coffee, and 
to divide their time between mugs, account-books, 
gold fish, and the vegetable world) can pay four 
or five hundred pounds per annum for the rent of 
a little shop ; and that their shops pass from 
father to son, or to their nominees by will, on pay- 
ment of a fine, almost in the same way as copy- 
hold property. I did not know that the late Mr. 
Jonquil — who could not write his name, and was 
never anxious to learn — made thirty thousand 
pounds in one of these little Ionic pens. 

I was not aware that one back shop keeps sixty 
persons during the season constantly shelling 
peas ; nor that nosegay -making has been an art 
since the Duchess of Sutherland made it one. 
Nor that girls who practise it skilfully can earn 
an easy living. Much less (sober bachelor that I 
am) did I suspect that a wedding nosegay will 
sometimes cost two guineas ; or that those little 
bouquets in cut paper, which the premiere dan- 
seuse picks up and sniffs and smiles at, and presses 
to the rim of her corset, and feigns to guard as 
inestimable treasures, have cost from five to ten 
shillings each. 

The amount of money expended in this 
Avenue on " extraordinary " productions of 
nature, is, no doubt, fearfully large. We 
have stood by, times out of number, and seen 
such sums cheerfully parted from that we 
have gone home lost in thought ! 


All things bright have surely got their shadow, 
And every joy is but the gay reverse — 
The bright blank nothing, but the picture's back, 
The portrait of their woe turned to the wall ! 

J. S. Bigg. 




We gave, in our last, a racy descrip- 
tion of "A Village Tea-Party." The fol- 
lowing gem from the same pen, is equally 
worthy of a " setting 1 ' in our columns. 

I have often noticed, says Mrs. Gaskell, 
that almost every one has his own indivi- 
dual small economies — careful habits of 
saving fractions of pennies in some one pecu- 
liar direction — any disturbance of which 
annoys him more than spending shillings or 
pounds on some real extravagance. An old 
gentleman of my acquaintance, who took 
the intelligence of the failure of a Joint- 
Stock Bank, in which some of his money 
was invested, with stoical mildness, worried 
his family all through a long summer's day, 
because one of them had torn (instead of 
cutting) out the written leaves of his now 
useless bank-book. Of course, the corres- 
ponding pages at the other end came out 
as well; and this little unnecessary waste 
of paper (his private economy) chafed him 
more than all the loss of his money. 

Envelopes fretted his soul terribly when 
they first came in. The only way in which 
he could reconcile himself to such a waste 
of his cherished article was, by patiently 
turning inside out all that were sent to him, 
and so making them serve again. Even now, 
though tamed by age, T see him cast wistful 
glances at his daughters when they send a 
whole instead of a half sheet of note-paper, 
with the three lines of acceptance to an in- 
vitation written on only one of the sides. 

I am not above owning that I have this 
human weakness myself. String is my 
foible. My pockets get full of little hanks 
of it, picked up and twisted together, ready 
for uses that never come. I am seriously 
annoyed if any one cuts the string of a 
parcel, instead of patiently and faithfully 
undoing it fold by fold. How people can 
bring themselves to use India-rubber rings, 
which are a sort of deification of string, as 
lightly as they do, I cannot imagine. To me 
an India-rubber ring is a precious treasure. 
I have one which is not new ; one that I 
picked up off the floor, nearly six years ago. 
I have really tried to use it ; but my heart 
failed me, and I could not commit the extra- 

Small pieces of butter grieve others. 
They cannot attend to conversation, because 
of the annoyance occasioned by the habit 
which some people have of invariably taking 
more butter than they want. Have you not 
seen the anxious look (almost mesmeric) 
which such persons fix on the article ? 
They would feel it a relief if they might 
bury it out of their sight, by popping it into 
their own mouths, and swallowing it down. 
And they are really made happy if the 

person on whose plate it lies unused, sud- 
denly breaks off a piece of toast (which he 
does not want at all) and eats up his butter. 
They think that this is not waste." 

Is this not a rich morgeau of its kind ? 
We can, many of us, point out the very 
person indicated, and say — " Thou art the 
man ! " 



Oh, let the sweetest flowers bloom, 
To breathe an incense o'er the tomb 

Where soft winds gently sigh, — 
Let myrtle, and forget-me-not, 
And cypress mark the sacred spot, 

Where friends and kindred lie ! 

It is a rest for those who weep ; 
Calmly and peacefully they sleep, 

Beneath the bright blue sky: 
They know no care, they fear no foe, 
They leave this joyless world below 

For endless bliss on high. 

Oh, plant upon the friendly tomb 

The fairest, sweetest flowers that bloom 

Beneath the summer's sky ; 
A faithful vigil they will keep, 
And sympathise with those who weep, 

Where friends and kindred lie ! 

Yes, plant the sweetest flowers there ; 
None are too delicate or fair 

To grace that sacred rest. 
Oh, waft a fragrance o'er the grave, 
Where calmly sleep the good, the brave, 

The dearest and the best. 

Friends of the mourner ! smile and bless 
The heart that feels its loneliness ! 

Oh, lead their thoughts on high ! 
Point to that happy land above, 
Where we shall meet with those we love, 

To live and never die ! 


The modesty of great minds, like their tendency 
to rest, generates an apparent inconsistency, at 
which vulgar observers are amazed. It is a dis- 
sonance full of sweetness and power ; but pleasing 
to well-taught ears. 

For just as there is an alternation between the 
love of repose and the desire of action, so is there 
also in noble spirits a counterpoise between the 
consciousness of superior power and native high 
quality, and the characteristic humility or meek- 
ness. Such are the changes in a spring day, when 
the sun, returning to our hemisphere, and about to 
put forth anew the generative fervor of summer, 
is seen contending with the heavy exhalations of 

For awhile, these vapors gather over the 
Heavens and darken the landscape ; but at length 
they divide, and even while tepid showers are 
falling, the source of light is revealed in all his 
effulgence ; and yet only to be seen again veiled in 
the mists his own rays have drawn into the sky. 




How sweet and solemn sounds the old Church 
bell ! 

We in its measured notes may often scan 
Some passing scene of which it seems to tell — 

Some tale which marks the destiny of man. 

Hark ! how its merry, noisy, gladsome notes 
Are chiming forth in peals both loud and wild, 

Wakening the echoes ; it to all denotes 
A hearty welcome to the new-horn child. 

Again its cheerful sound falls on the ear, 
And ushers in the happy bridal morn — 

Tells of fond hearts (to form a tie most dear 
Now from all earlier ties for ever torn.) 

Sweet sound the Church bells on the Sabbath day, 
There seems a sweetness in the Sabbath air, — 

Wafting their melody, it seems to say, 

"For the great Sabbath of thy soul prepare ! " 

Forth from the old grey tower again ascends, 
In altered note, the slow funereal toll! — 

The mournful sound which tells of severed friends, 
And of the solemn exit of a soul ! 

J. H. 


Many a man, by crossing his child's natu- 
ral disposition, has caused himself an aching 
heart ; besides contributing largely to his 
child's unhappiness. 

The first step in early education should be, 
a consideration of what a pupil is really 
fitted for. The human head is so formed, 
that the point may not be so difficult to ascer- 
tain as some imagine. The natural inclination, 
too, develops itself at a tender age. 

If we would have our children to excel , 
we must work by rule. Excellence, as a 
sensible writer remarks, no matter in what 
department, must be the child of an ardent 
general predilection. It can never be the 
offspring of qualities, however eminent, con- 
strained from their native bias. We must all 
admit this. 

It is laudable, therefore, to encourage, as 
far as may be, the eccentricity which forms 
the principal virtue of the human character. 
There is propriety in fanning the vital spark 
of originality into flame ; and watching and 
guarding it, until it warms and invigorates 
its whole neigborhood. It is judicious to 
remove every obstruction to the well-being of 
those kindly indications of future and novel 
splendor, which are capable of charming, even 
in their infantine state. 

Tt is well done of the father, when arrang- 
ing the entrance of his children on the stage 
of life, carefully to consult their sentiments 
as to what are the desirable situations of its 
eventful drama. Should he exert his au- 
thority in direct opposition to their wishes, 
the result, it may be safely predicted, will 

be shame to them, and sorrow to himself. 
But should he adopt their ideas, and make 
them the partners of his own thoughts and 
hopes ; should he resolve to give assistance 
to the ardent conceptions of youth, — he will 
in all probability experience the rare happiness 
of witnessing in his family the felicitous union 
of rectitude, prosperity, and genius. 

The scheme of our lives is drawn by a 
celestial artist. It is our part to see it exe- 
cuted. A heavy responsibility attaches to 
those who show neglect in this important 


We ake too often doomed — once at 
least in the course of our lives — to witness 
some painful scene, the impression caused 
by which never can be effaced from the 
memory. We have ourself beheld scenes 
from which even now the mind recoils with 

Of ail the recorded casualties of life, how- 
ever, none surely can exceed in the intensity 
of interest it excites in the perusal, the fol- 
lowing. It is a carefully condensed history 
of a scene which recently was witnessed at 
Niagara. We register it here, with a view 
of showing on what a slender thread our life 
sometimes hangs : — 

Three men recently went boating on the river. 
* * * The boat was swept towards the "falls," 
overturned, and two of the party were whirled 
into the boiling surge. 

The third, a man named Avery, caught on some 
rocks not far from the dreadful precipice of foam. 
A log of wood, apparently wedged tightly between 
the rocks, and crossed by another, still higher out 
of the water, was his resting-place. Here he 
remained, half clinging to and half perching upon 
the log, from which he would occasionally slip 
down and walk a little on the rocks, which were 
only a short distance under water. 

A few feet in advance was a small fall of about 
four or five feet, and here and on each side of him 
the waters rushed wildly on, at a speed of about 
forty miles an hour. A raft was constructed, 
formed of crossed timbers, strongly fastened in a 
square forrn, a hogshead being placed in the centre. 
The raft was strongly secured with ropes on each 
side, and was floated down to the rocks upon which 
Avery was stationed. As it approached the spot 
where he stood, the rope got fast in the rocks ; and 
the raft became immoveable. Avery then appeared 
to muster strength and courage, and descending 
from the log, walked over the rocks to the place 
where the rope had caught, and labored long and 
hard to disengage it from the rocks. 

After some time he succeeded ; and then, with 
renewed energy, inspired by the hope of rescue, 
he pulled manfully at the rope, until he succeeded 
in bringing the raft from the current towards his 
fearful resting-place. Avery now got on to the 
raft, making himself fast thereto by means of ropes, 



which had been placed there for that purpose, and 
those on the land commenced drawing it towards 
the shore. It had approached within thirty feet of 
one of the small islands, towards which its course 
was directed, when suddenly it became stationary 
in the midst of the rapids, the ropes having again 
caught in the rocks. All endeavors to move it 
were found to be in vain, and much fear was en- 
tertained that the strain upon the ropes might 
break them, and occasion the poor fellow's loss. 

Various suggestions were now volunteered, and 
several attempts were made to reach him. One 
man went out in a boat as far as he dared to 
venture, and asked him if he would fasten a rope 
round his body, and trust to being drawn in by 
that. The poor fellow, however, shook his head 
despondingly, as though he felt that he had not 
strength enough remaining to make himself secure 
to a rope. At length a boat was got ready — a 
life-boat, which had arrived from Buffalo — and 
was launched. 

Seeing the preparations, Avery unloosed his 
fastenings, with the intention of being ready to 
spring into the boat. Borne on by the rushing 
waters, and amid the breathless suspense of the 
spectators, the boat approached the raft. A thrill 
ran through the crowd — the boat lived in the 
angry waves — it struck the raft — a shout of joy 
rang forth from the shore, for it was believed that 
he was saved — when suddenly the hope that had 
been raised was again destroyed. A moment's 
confusion followed the collision, and in the next, 
the victim was seen in the midst of the waters, 
separated from his frail support, and struggling for 

For a minute or two the poor fellow, striking 
out boldly, swam towards the island, and the cry 
echoed from shore to shore that he would yet be 
saved. But soon the fact became certain that he 
receded from the shore — his strength was evi- 
dently failing. Gradually he was borne back into 
the fiercest part of the current ; slowly at first, then 
more rapidly. Swiftly and more swiftly he ap- 
proached the brink of the fatal precipice, the 
waters had him at last their undisputed victim, 
and madly they whirled him on to death, as though 
enraged at his persevering efforts to escape their 

A sickening feeling came over the spectators, 
when, just on the brink of the precipice, the 
doomed man sprang up from the waters, clear 
from the surface. Raising himself upright as a 
statue, his arms flung wildly aloft, and, with a 
piercing shriek that rang loudly above the mocking 
roar of the cataract, he fell back again into the 
foaming waves, and was hurled over the brow of 
the fatal precipice. * * * * 

The melancholy and awful fate of poor Avery 
will add another to the many fearful local incidents 
already related by the guides at the Falls, and for 
years his critical situation, his hard struggles, his 
fearful death, will be the theme of many a har- 
rowing tale. And visitors to the mighty cataract 
will seek the scene of the terrible catastrophe with 
a shuddering curiosity, and the timid and imagi- 
native will fancy, in the dusk of the evening, that 
they still hear above the waters' roar the fearful 
shriek that preceded the fatal plunge. 

Our readers will remember, that we wit- 

nessed a painful scene of a drowning man, 
some twelve months since — Aug. 26, 1852. 
We described it (see vol. ii., p. 173) accu- 
rately, just as we saw it. 

We hardly need add, that the recollection 
of that day (commenced in pleasure, but 
ending in sorrow) has never been effaced 
from our mind. 

We saw the affectionate mother of that 
fine young man bid him adieu, at London 
Bridge, at ten o'clock. Ere mid-day, we also 
saw the fond hopes of that dear, loving mother, 
withered. Her boy had fallen overboard 
from the vessel in which we sailed ; and the 
waters, closing over him, had deprived her of 
her only joy for ever ! 

How true it is, that in the very midst of 
life we are in death ! 


Woman's love is like a rock, 

Firm it stands, though storms surround it ; 
Like the ivy on the rock, 

E'en in ruin clinging round it. 

Like the moon dispelling night, 
Woman's smiles illumine sorrow ; 

Like the rainbow's pledge of light, 
Harbinger of joy to-morrow. 

Like the swallow, when she's seen, 
Pleasure's blossoms never wither ; 

Herald of a sky serene, 

Woman brings the summer with her. 

Like the roses of the brake, 

Precious though their bloom be faded ; 
Like the bosom of the lake, 

By reflected darkness shaded. 

Like a picture truly fine, 

Half her beauty distance covers, — 
Touches of a hand divine 

Every nearer view discovers. 

Like the stream upon the hill, 

Unconfin'd it runs the purer ; 
Like the bird, a cage will kill, — 

But kindness win, and love secure her. 

Like the sun dispensing light, 

Life, and joy on all that's human, — 
Ever fixed, and warm, and bright, 



A gentleman from German}', writing of what 
he lately saw in our fashionable churches, says, 
" In religion, the English are decorous hypocrites? 
He has us there ! 

The same German, speaking of English good- 
ness, says, "The extreme prudery of the women 
is put out of countenance by the loivness of their 
evening dresses." He has us there, too ! Fas 
est ab hoste doceri. Had the same remarks been 
made by an Englishman, they would have savored 
of ill-nature. But recorded as they are by a fo- 
reigner, they carry weight with them. "We are a 
superficial people ! 




As when the rose we cherish'd 
Lies wither'd on the plain, 

Her leaves, tho' pale and perish'd, 
Sweet odor still retain; 

As when a song is ended, 
Its music haunts the ear ; 

As when the Sun's descended, 
Light lingers o'er his Lier ; 

So Woman's brow, when faded, 
Still shines on Memory's stream : 

The smile that Time has shaded, 
Gilds Fancy's darken'd dream. 

Ambition's footsteps falter, 
And Passion's waves expire ; 

Time strews the world's dark altar 
With ashes of Desire. 

But Woman's smile for ever 
Returns upon our dream : 

Once felt, the soul can never 
Forget Love's morning beam ! 


You gave us, Mr. Editor, some very- 
interesting particulars last month (page 27), 
about the various colors imparted at certain 
times to the waters of the great deep. 

Connected with the same subject, 1 observe 
some additional remarks recorded by Mr. 
Gosse, in his " Rambles of a Naturalist." I 
have copied them, and beg to crave a corner 
for their insertion in our Journal : — 

I was coming down lately, says Mr. Gosse, 
by the steamer from Bristol to Ilfracombe in 
lovely summer weather. Night fell on us 
when approaching Lynmouth ; and from 
thence to Ilfracombe, the sea, unruffled by a 
breeze, presented a phenomenon (of no rare 
occurrence indeed to those who are much 
on the water, but) of unusual splendor and 
beauty. It w T as the phosphorescence of the 
luminous animalcules ; and though I have 
seen the same appearance in greater profusion 
and magnificence in other seas, I think I 
never saw it with more delight or admiration 
than here. 

Sparkles of brilliance were seen thickly 
studding the smooth surface, when intently 
looked at, though a careless observer would 
have overlooked them ; and as the vessel's 
bows ploughed up the water, and threw off 
the liquid furrow on each side, brighter 
specks were left adhering to the dark planks, 
as the water fell off, and shone brilliantly 
until the next plunge washed them away. 
The foaming wash of the furrow itself was 
turbid with milky light, in which glowed 
spangles of intense brightness. But the most 
beautiful effect of the whole, by far, and what 
was novel to me, was produced by the pro- 

jecting paddle-boxes. Each of these drove 
up from before its broad front a little wave, 
continually prolonging itself, which presently 
curled over outwardly with a glassy edge, and 

It was from this curling and breaking edge 
— here and there, not in every part, that there 
gleamed up a blueish light of the most vivid 
lustre ; so intense that I could almost read 
the small print of a book that I held up over 
the gangway. The luminous animals evi- 
dently ran in shoals, unequally distributed; 
for sometimes many rods would be passed, 
in which none or scarcely any light was 
evolved, then it would appear and continue for 
perhaps an equal space. The waves formed 
by the summits of the swells behind the ship 
continued to break, and were visible for a 
long way behind, as a succession of luminous 
spots. Occasionally, one would appear in 
the distant darkness, after the intermediate 
one had ceased ; bearing no small resem- 
blance, as some one on board observed, to a 
ship showing a light by way of signal. 

While on this subject, I will mention the 
charming spectacle presented by some of the 
Sertulariarj zoophytes, in the dark. Other 
naturalists, as Professor Forbes, Mr. Hassal, 
and Mr. Landsborough, have observed it be- 
fore me ; and it was the admiration expressed 
by them at the sight, that set me upon 
witnessing it for myself. I had a frond of 
Laminaria digitata, on whose smooth surface 
a populous colony of that delicate zoophyte 
Laomedea gcnicidata had established itself. 
1 had put the frond into a vessel of water as 
it came out of the sea, and the polypes were 
now in the highest health and vigor in a 
large vase in my study. After nightfall I 
went into the room, in the dark ; and taking 
a slender stick, struck the frond and waved it 
to and fro. Instantly one and another of the 
polypes lighted up, lamp after lamp rapidly 
seemed to catch the flame, until in a second 
or two every stalk bore several tiny but 
brilliant stars ; while from the regular manner 
in which the stalks were disposed along the 
lines of the creeping stem, as before described, 
the spectacle bore a resemblance sufficiently 
striking to the illumination of a city ; or 
rather to the gas-jets of some figure of a 
crown or V.R., adorning the house of a loyal 
citizen on a gala-night ; the more because of 
the momentary extinction and re-lighting of 
the flames here and there, and the manner in 
which the successive ignition appeared to run 
rapidly from part to part. 

It has been a question whether the lumi- 
nosity of these polypes is a vital function, or 
only the result of death and decomposition. 
I agree with Mr. Hassal in thinking it atten- 
dant, if not dependent, upon vitality. The 
colony of Laomedea, in the preceding experi- 
ment, was still attached to its sea-weed ; and 



this had not been washed up on the beach, 
but was growing in its native tide-pool when 
I plucked it. Lt had never been out of water 
a single minute, and the polypes were in high 
health and activity both before and after the 
observation of their luminosity. 

The above graphic sketch harmonises 
nicely with the paper you have before 
inserted. I have myself witnessed the ocean 
in a state of luminosity, and therefore take 
pleasure in seeing the causes of it popularly 

W. E. 


The relation that water has to all 
bodies endowed with life, in whatever shape 
they may appear to us, is very considerable, 
and embraces an extensive science. 

Water being the vehicle by means of which 
nourishment is conveyed into plants, and the 
means through which nutriment becomes a 
part of the animal tissue, it follows that this 
element is of the highest importance, both in 
the animal and vegetable kingdoms. 

It is impossible to determine with any degree 
of precision, the relative quantity of water and 
solid substances in animals and vegetables. 
Some distinguished experimenters believe that 
there are at least 6-7 water in animals, and a 
more considerable portion in vegetables than 
would at first be imagined. The vegetable and 
animal economy are continually changing. 
Consequently, this great menstruum is neces- 
sary to carry on the work of building up and 
tearing down, for subserving a purpose then 
becoming unfit for use. In the form of per- 
spiration, some plants — for instance, the cab- 
bage, transmit daily a quantity of water, nearly 
equal to half their weight : this takes place 
from the under side of the leaves ; and man per- 
spires, on an average, at least 28 pints per day. 
Hence renovation with this fluid is so neces- 
sary, and extreme thirst so painful. 

We cannot but be struck with the sublime 
character of this extensive and beautiful circle 
of action, to which, in part, the specimen 
before us is subject ; and by which such a va- 
riety of important purposes are accomplished. 
The vast range it embraces is wonderful. Once, 
this little example may have been floating 
high in the aerial regions, presenting all the 
beauties of a crystalline state, or in infinitely 
small particles, collected in large heaps, 
called clouds — at another time, penetrating 
the bowels of the earth, collecting the many 
minerals, with which it is impregnated, in the 
fountain. At one time it was mingling with 
the waters of the great deep, and occasion- 
ally, wafted by winds and currents out into 
fathomless regions — at another, bursting out 
from some of the springs or fountains which 
are found in every section of the globe, placed 

there to meet the immediate wants of its 
inhabitants. At one time it was raisedup 
from the sea, in the form of an invisible gas, 
and in an insensible manner — at another 
time descending in showers, to water the 
fields which are prepared for it by the sweat 
of the brow. 

In the ocean, it assisted in supplying the 
wants of the million of millions of its inhabi- 
tants ; — on the land, it must have assisted in 
quenching the parching thirst of unnumbered 
millions, the lives of whom have long since 
passed their scene of action here. So adapted 
is the means to the great end ! 

Who dares deny that this shows the design 
of a great, intelligent First Cause ? 


It is an ascertained fact that there 
are three classes of lunar mountains. The first 
consists of isolated, separate, distinct moun- 
tains of a very curious character. The dis- 
tinguishing characteristic of these mountains 
is this : they start up from a plain quite 

On the earth it is well known that moun- 
tains generally go in ranges or groups ; but we 
find these isolated lunar mountains standing 
up entirely apart, never having been connected 
with any range. The one named Pico, is 9,000 
feet high. This mountain has the form of an 
immense sugar-loaf ; and if our readers can 
imagine a fairly-proportioned sugar-loaf, 
9,000 feet in height, and themselves situated 
above it so as to be able to look down upon 
its apex, they will have an approximate idea 
of the appearance of Pico. 

There are many other mountains of a 
similar description scattered over the moon's 
surface ; and these mountains not only stand 
apart from each other, but what is still more 
remarkable, the plains on which they stand 
are but slightly disturbed. How singular, 
then, the influence that shot the mountain up 
9,000 feet, and yet scarcely disturbed the 
plain in the immediate neighborhood ! The 
second class of lunar elevations consists of 
mountain ranges. Now this is the principal 
feature of the mountains on earth. They are 
rarely found associated in any other manner 
than in vast ranges. This phenomenon is 
also found in the moon, but there it is the 
exception ; only two principal ranges are 
found, and these appear to have been origin- 
ally one range. One is called the Appennines. 
It is so well seen, that just as the line of 
light is passing through the moon, you will 
think it is, generally speaking, a crack in 
its surface ; but a telescope of ordinary 
power will at once manifest it to be a range 
of mountains. 

The lunar Appennines may be compared 
with the loftiest ranges of mountains upon 



earth. It is 18,000 feet high, and there is 
another range still higher, rising 25,000 feet 
above its base. In this feature, then, the 
moon corresponds with the earth, but with 
this difference — what is the rule on the earth 
is the exception on the moon. N. 


There are some particularly interesting 
papers in No. 30 of our good old friend " The 
Naturalist." Among them, we observe one 
from S. Hannaford, Jim., Esq., who left us, 
to our great regret, last year, to proceed to 
Australia. * 

The communication we allude to is entitled 
" Notes on the Indigenous Plants of Mel- 
bourne; " and it will be perused with delight 
by all who feel interested in that now im- 
portant country. 

The article we select is slightly abridged 
from " Notes on the Heron," by W. Gr. 
Johnstone, Esq. We quite agree in opinion 
with him, in considering a heronry an inter- 
esting sight. His ramble is introduced 
thus : — 

It was a delightful morning, the 4th of April, 
when we awoke, our thoughts intent on the ] pil- 
grimage about to be performed, to see for the first 
time not only a Heronry, but one situated in that 
small lake where steam, as applied to propelling 
vessels, was first tried, and that successfully. The 
place in itself is surpassing lovely, embosomed 
amongst slightly undulating green hills, with those 
of a sterner cast in the back ground, clothed to 
their summits with the Tasselled Larch [Larix), 
and our hardy native Pine (Pinus Sylvestris) ; 
and extending again beyond these may be seen 
the heath-clad mountains, where, in the words of 
the poet, 

" The martyrs lie ; 
Where Cameron's sword and his bible are seen, 
Engraved on the stone where the heather grows 

Indeed all around is sacred ground — the lake 
before us, Burns' (our national poet) Farm at Ellis- 
land immediately behind us, Queensberry looking 
down upon us, surrounded on all sides by moun- 
tains till the chain is completed by the dark- 
browed Criffel, which guards the entrance to the 

But to the matter in hand ; as I have before 
stated, the Heronry is situated on a small island 
in the lake. I was very particular in my exami- 
nation of it. The Heronry consists of forty-nine 
nests in all, of which two nests are on birch trees, 
three on silver firs, four on ash, four on oak, four 
on larch, seven on spruce, and twenty-five on elm ; 
thus showing they are not at all particular as to 

* We may note here, that Part 20 of" Morris' 
Natural History of the Nests and Eggs of British 
Birds," and -also Part 39 of the " History of Bri- 
tish Birds," by the same author, are just published. 
They are, as usual, highly interesting, and the 
engravings nicely colored. — Ed. K. J. 

their choice of any species of tree. I could not 
be sure of how many birds there were, but I be- 
lieve there would not be fewer than eighty to 
ninety — forty or forty -five pairs; but from the 
screaming way they fly about when one intrudes 
on their domains, it is no easy matter to count 
them. Though the nests are more numerous than 
the birds I have stated, there might be, as I have 
no doubt there were, some of them old and un- 
tenanted. The nests I observed are all placed, if 
! not on the very summit of the trees, at least as 
high as may be, and on the extremity of the 
branches — no doubt that they may get easily into 
- their nests, for did branches intervene, they would 
' have difficulty in so doing ; it is a most ludicrous 
sight to see their long legs twirling about like as 
many churn-staves before descending into their 

Before the Herons got established in their pos- 
sessions, they and the Books had a severe, or 
rather a series of severe battles ; but Mr. Heron 
came off victorious, and now woe to the poor Book 
who ventures on the island! I have heard it 
stated that the legs of the Herons might be seen 
out of the nest behind, while sitting ; this is not 
the case. The nest is formed very much like that 
of the Book's, in many cases no larger ; the eggs, 
generally three in number, are of a beautiful green 
color, varying somewhat in shape, but about the 
size of the domestic fowl's ; some of them are ovate, 
pointed at the lower end, others are pointed at 
both ends. I noticed many of the male birds with 
splendid crests, others of them very small ; it may 
be that some never have that appendage so full 
as others, or that the latter are younger birds, for 
at least two years are required to perfect the 
Heron's plumage. 

Altogether a Heronry is a most interesting 
sight, no less from its novelty than a romantic 
beauty peculiarly its own. We wonder much to 
hear of parties having such in their possession, 
destroying them. The birds do no injury, their 
food consisting of eels, frogs, and the like ; indeed 
they only establish themselves in the vicinity of 
waters where such are to be found, and are more 
benefit than otherwise. Rookeries are allowed 
and cherished — aye, noisy Rooks — and why not 
the gentle Heron — a more interesting bird we 
have not on our island ; one, too, associated with 
by-gone days, when the cry used to be at dawn 
of day — 

"Waken Lords and ladies gay, &c." 
Not as now — 

" Up in the mornings no for me." 

It may be well also to state that several pairs 
of Herons have this year, for the first time, built 
their nests in a wood at a short distance from the 
lake, not certainly for want of room on the island ; 
" but every man to his humor," as Shakspeare 

Having said so much regarding the Heronry, 
we must take notice of four other friends claiming 
our attention. Two by their restless activity, the 
Water-hen, and the Coot ; two by their subdued 
quiet beauty, the Wild Duck, and the lovely little 
Teal. The two former breed on and around the 
lake ; the two latter disappear about this time, re- 
turning again generally in the course of a few 
months with a goodly addition to their numbers. 



A deserted Dove-cot on the island is tenanted 
by a pair of White Owls. The Frogs are swim- 
ing about most lustily. 

"Walking around the lake, our face turned home- 
wards, we had the pleasure of seeing some pairs 
of the Long-tailed Titmouse and the Cole Tit, 
both of which breed here in abundance. When 
we did see them, our mind was musing on these 
most true lines of the great Schiller : — 
On the mountain is Freedom ! the breath of decay 

Never sullies the fresh flowing air ; 
Oh ! Nature is perfect wherever we stray ; 

'Tis man that deforms it with care. 


The impenetrable veil of antiquity 
hangs over the antediluvian oyster, but the 
geological finger-post points to the testifying 
fossil. We might, in pursuing this subject, 
sail upon the broad pinions of conjecture into 
the remote, or flutter with lighter wings in 
the regions of fable — but it is unnecessary : 
the mysterious pages of Nature are ever 
opening freshly around us, and in her stony 
volumes, amid the calcareous strata, we 
behold the precious mollusc — the primeval 

"rock-ribbed ! and ancient as the sun." 

Be, Y ANT. 

Yet of its early history we know nothing. 
Etymology throws but little light upon the 
matter. In vain have we carried our re- 
searches into the vernacular of the maritime 
Phoenicians, or sought it amid the fragments 
of Chaldean and Assyrian lore. To no 
purpose have we analysed the roots of the 
comprehensive Hebrew, or lost ourselves in 
the baffling labvrinths of the oriental San- 
scrit. The history of the ancient oyster is 
written in no language, except in the universal 
idiom of the secondary strata ! 

Nor is this surprising, in a philosophical 
point of view. Setting aside the pre- Adamites, 
and taking Adam as the first name-giver, 
when we reflect that Adam lived iN-land, and 
therefore never saw the succulent periphery 
in its native mud, we may deduce this rea- 
sonable conclusion: viz., that as he never 
saw it, he probably never named it — never ! 
— not even to his most intimate friends. 

Such being the case, we must seek for in- 
formation in a later and more enlightened 
age. And here let me take occasion to 
remark, that oysters and intelligence are 
nearer allied than many persons imagine. 
The relations between Physiology and Psy- 
chology are beginning to be better under- 
stood. A man might be scintillant with 
facetiousness over a plump " Shrewsbury," 
who would make a very sorry figure over a 
bowl of water-gruel. The gentle, indolent 
Brahmin, the illiterate Laplander, the fero- 
cious Libyan, the mercurial Frenchman, and 

the stolid (I beg your pardon), the stalwart 
Englishman, are not more various in their 
mental capacities than in their table 

And even in this century we see that wit 
and oysters come in together with September, 
and wit and oysters go out together in May 
— a circumstance not without its weight, and 
peculiarly pertinent to the subject-matter. 
With this brief but not irrelevant digression 
I will proceed. We have " Ostreum " from 
the Latins, " Oester" from the Saxons, 
" Auster " from the Teutons, " Ostra" from 
the Spaniards, and "Huitre " from the French ; 
words evidently of common origin, threads 
spun from the same distaff ! And here our 
archaeology narrows to a point, and this point 
is the pearl we are in search of: viz., the 
genesis of this most excellent fish. 

11 Words evidently derived from a common 
origin." What origin? Let us examine the 
venerable page of history. Where is the 
first mention made of oysters ? Hudibras 
says : — 

" the Emperor Caligula, 

Who triumph'd o'er the British seas, 

Took crabs and ■ oysteks ' prisoners (mark 

that !) 
And lobsters, 'stead of cuirassiers ; 
Engaged his legions in fierce bustles 
With periwinkles, prawns, and mussels, 
And led his troops with furious gallops 
To charge whole regiments of scallops ; 
Not, like their ancient way of war, 
To wait on his triumphal car, 
But when he went to dine or sup, 
More bravely ate his captives up ; 
Leaving all war by his example, 
Reduced — to vict'ling of a camp well." 

This is the first mention in the classics of 
oysters ; and we now approach the cynosure 
of our inquiry. From this, we infer that 
oysters came originally from Britain. The 
word is unquestionably primitive. The broad, 
open, vowelly sound is, beyond a doubt, the 
primal, spontaneous thought that found 
utterance when the soft, seductive mollusc 
first exposed its white bosom in its pearly 
shell to the enraptured gaze of aboriginal 
man ! Is there a question about it ? Does 
not every one know, when he sees an oyster, 
thot that is its name? And hence we reason 
that it originated*in Britain, was Latinised by 
the Romans, replevined by the Saxons, cor- 
rupted by the Teutons, and finally barbecued 
by the French. Oh, philological ladder, by 
which we mount upward, until we emerge 
beneath the clear vertical light of Truth ! ! 

Methinks I see the First Oyster-eater! 
A brawny, naked savage, with his wild hair 
matted over his wild eyes, a zodiac of fiery 
stars tattooed across his muscular breast — 
unclad, unsandalled, hirsute, and hungry — 
he breaks through the underwoods that 
margin the beach, and stands alone upon the 



sea-shore, with nothing in one hand but his 
unsuccessful boar-spear, and nothing in the 
other but his fist. There he beholds a 
splendid panorama ! The west all a-glow ; 
the conscious waves blushing as the warm 
sun sinks to their embraces ; the blue sea on 
his left ; the interminable forest on his right ; 
and the creamy sea-sand curving in delicate 
tracery between. A picture and a child of 
Nature ! 

Delightedly he plunges in the foam, and 
swims to the bald crown of a rock that up- 
lifts itself above the waves. Seating himself 
he gazes upon the calm expanse beyond, and 
swings his legs against the moss that spins 
its filmy tendrils in the brine. Suddenly he 
utters a cry : springs up ; the blood streams 
from his foot. With barbarous fury he tears 
up masses of sea-moss, and with it clustering 
families of testacea. Dashing them down 
upon the rock, lie perceives a liquor exuding 
from the fragments ; he sees the white, 
pulpy, delicate morsel, half hidden in the 
cracked shell; and instinctively reaching up- 
ward, his hand finds his mouth, and, amidst 
a savage, triumphant deglutition, he murmurs 
— Oyster ! ! Champing, in his uncouth 
fashion, bits of shell and sea-weed, with un- 
controllable pleasure he masters this mystery 
of a new sensation ; and not until the grey 
veil of night is drawn over the distant waters, 
does he leave the rock, covered with the 
trophies of his victory. 

We date from this epoch the maritime 
history of England. Ere long, the reedy 
cabins of her aborigines clustered upon the 
banks of beautiful inlets, and overspread her 
long lines of level beaches ; or pencilled with 
delicate wreaths of smoke the savage aspect 
of her rocky coasts. The sword was beaten 
into the oyster-knife, and the spear into 
oyster-rakes. Commerce spread her white 
wings along the shores of happy Albion, and 
man emerged at once into civilisation from a 
nomadic state. From this people arose the 
mighty nation of Ostrogoths ; from the Ostro- 
phagi of ancient Britain came the custom of 
Ostracism — that is, sending political delin- 
quents to that place where they can get no 
more oysters. 

There is a strange fatality attending all 
discoveries. Our Briton saw a mighty 
change come over the country — a change 
beyond the reach of memory or speculation. 
Neighboring tribes, formerly hostile, were 
now linked together in bonds of amity. A 
sylvan, warlike people had become a peace- 
ful, piscivorous community; and he himself, 
once the lowest of his race, was now ele- 
vated above the dreams of his ambition. 
He stood alone upon the sea-shore, looking 
toward the rock, which, years ago, had been 
his stepping-stone to power, and a desire to 
revisit it came over him. He stands now 

upon it. The season, the hour, the westerly 
sky, remind him of former times. He sits 
and meditates. 

Suddenly a flush of pleasure overspreads 
his countenance ; for there, just below the 
flood, he sees a gigantic bivalve — alone — 
with mouth agape, as if yawning with very 
weariness at the solitude in which it found 
itself. What I am about to describe may 
be untrue. But I believe it. I have heard 
of the waggish propensities of oysters. I 
have known them, from mere humor, to clap 
suddenly upon a rat's tail at night; and, 
what with the squeaking and the clatter, we 
verily thought the Prince of Evil had broke 
loose in the cellar. 

But to return. When our Briton saw the 
oyster in this defenceless attitude, he knelt 
down; and gradually reaching his arm to- 
ward it, he suddenly thrust his fingers in 
the aperture, and the oyster closed upon 
them with a spasmodic snap ! In vain the 
Briton tugged and roared ; he might as well 
have tried to uproot the solid rock as to re- 
move that oyster ! In vain he called upon 
all his heathen gods — Gog and Magog — elder 
than Woden and Thor ; and with huge, un- 
couth, druidical oaths consigned all shell-fish 
to Nidhogg, Hela, and the submarines. 
Bivalve held on with " a will." It was nuts 
for him, certainly. Here was a great lub- 
berly, chuckle-headed fellow, the destroyer 
of his tribe, with his fingers in chancery, and 
the tide rising ! A fellow who had thought, 
like ancient Pistol, to make the world his 
oyster, and here was the oyster making a 
world of him. 

Strange mutation ! The poor Briton raised 
his eyes : there were the huts of his people ; 
he could even distinguish his own, with its 
slender spiral of smoke ; they were probably 
preparing a roast for him ; how he detested 
a roast! Then a thought of his wife, his 
little ones awaiting him, tugged at his heart. 
The waters rose around him. He struggled, 
screamed in his anguish ; but the remorse- 
less winds dispersed the sounds, and ere the 
evening moon arose and flung her white 
radiance upon the placid waves, the last 
billow had rolled over the First Oyster- 
Eater ! — From Holt's Magazine, No. 2. 


Cast an eye into the gay world. What see we 
there ? For the most part, a set of querulous, 
emaciated, fluttering, fantastical beings, worn out 
in the keen pursuit of what they call " pleasure," 
— creatures that know, own, condemn, deplore, 
yet still pursue their own infelicity ! These are 
the thin remains of what is called " delight." — 

[Let every one of us, at this season," read, mark, 
learn, and inwardly digest " the above.] 





Happy is he who lives to understand 
Not human nature only, but explores 
All natures ; to the end that he may find, 
The law that governs each, and where begins 
The union, the partition where, that makes 
Kind and degree among all visible things. 



passing amongst us day 
after day, and behold the 
indifferent manner in which 
the obligations and duties 
of life are too often per- 
formed, we stand aghast 
at the shallowness of the 
human mind — which, like a horse in a mill, 
goes through its duties as if it were blind- 
fold. Why, the commonest (as we call it) 
of Nature's Works possesses an interest for 
an inquiring mind that is perfectly delight- 
ful. It only wants the eye to see it, and 
the heart to appreciate it, to cause its beau- 
ties to shine resplendently forth. Education 
can alone give these — followed by example. 

We are glad however to observe, that the 
apathy of which we complain is beginning to 
be aroused. Things are not now universally 
regarded with the stoical indifference they 
were some years ago. Wholesome Treatises 
on the works of nature have been issued at 
a cheap rate ; and an incipient taste for an 
investigation into the Wonders of the Crea- 
tion has begun to manifest itself. Flowers, 
birds, and gardens, now possess a charm, 
which works powerfully on the better feel- 
ings of the human heart ; and there are many 
among our rising youth who show an 
inquiring spirit which it is delightful to 

For such,we propose to-day to give our first 
paper on the Silkworm, an interesting little 

* We have often before remarked — that these 
harmless amusements, introduced amongst chil- 
dren, form their character for good or evil in after- 
life. A child really fond of flowers, birds, dogs, 
or indeed any living "pet," gives indication of its 
becoming a kind and feeling member of society. 
We have noticed this often. Whereas an early 
display of cruelty in children, or an inclination to 
tease, worry, and torture animals, invariably 
leads to evil in manhood or womanhood. Not long 
since, we saw four innocent girls amongst their 
" pets." One possessed a goldfinch, one a redpole, 
one some pretty little dormice; and the fourth 
three young rabbits. The mutual affection sub- 
sisting between all these, it was really delightful 
to behold. The rabbits in particular, as they ran 
after their young mistress in the garden — at once 
fearless and playful, caused us to regard that 
" happy family " with rapture. Their papa — a 
most estimable man, encourages this amiable 
feeling, and he may well be pi*oud of his children. 
God bless them all ! say we. — Ed. K. J. 

creature that finds favor in the sight of so 
very many of our sons and daughters ; and 
the wonders of whose short lives almost 
surpass belief. A little child, when it hears 
the ticking of a watch, labors earnestly 1 o 
break it open — to see whence the sound 
comes, and how it is produced. Shall we 
then, "children of a larger growth," culti- 
vate these worms, and not show an equal 
curiosity to know how they perform such 
miracles as are constantly presented to our 
view ? Assuredly not. The little animal 
who spins her soft, her shining, her exqui- 
sitely-fine silken thread ; whose matchless 
manufactures lend an ornament to grandeur, 
and make royalty itself more magnificent, 
must be regarded with admiration ; nor must 
we fail to notice, at a future time, the cell 
in which, when the gaiety and business of 
life are over, the little recluse immures her- 
self, and spends the remainder of her days 
in retirement : — 

This study, if directed by a meek, 
Sincere, and humble spirit, teaches love ; 
For knowledge is delight, and such delight 
Breeds love. Yet, suited as it rather is 
To thought, and to the climbing intellect, 
It teaches less to love than to adore — 
If that be not indeed the highest love. 

It would be useless for us to tell young 
people where to obtain their silkworms. They 
know this as well — perhaps better than we 
do. Our business is with their habits and 
manner of life. These we shall glean from 
the best authorities. 

The habits of the silkworm are completely 
sui generis, both as regards the times of its 
eating and sleeping. To ascertain these 
thoroughly, should be an early — the earliest 
study. The silkworm takes no water with 
its food, excepting only what is contained in 
the fresh leaf on which it feeds. If neglected, 
or only fed at long intervals, and during the 
day (even though at such times fed abun- 
dantly), a large portion of the food is thereby 
wasted. The leaves thus for a long time 
exposed becoming dry, the silkworms refuse 
to eat ; suffering irrecoverable injury by day, 
and also during the long night, both by 
reason of hunger and tormenting thirst. 
They suffer doubly also from the voracity 
with which they then devour their food in 
the morning. 

But by fresh feeding, at short and frequent 
intervals (by night as well as by day), the 
food is all devoured ; and half the quantity 
will suffice, none being wasted. Half the 
expenses of gathering the leaves and of 
cultivation being saved, even less than one 
hundred pounds of these leaves will be found 
amply sufficient for the production of a 
pound of silk. The cocoons thus formed 
will be found large and heavy ; the thread, 
or filament, substantial and strong, and not 

Vol. IV.— 7. 




liable to break in reeling. Thereby, neither 
trouble nor waste will be caused ; and eight 
pounds of cocoons of this superior size will, 
with careful and skilful reeling, produce a 
pound of raw silk. In the manufacture of 
this silk, the waste will be exceedingly small. 
The eggs are to be obtained, as they were 
laid on the paper the preceding season by 
the female moth. Some persons recommend 
taking the eggs off the paper ; then distri- 
buting them on a paper tray, or other recep- 
tacle appropriate for them. If the eggs were 
originally laid on paper, it would be as well 
to let the eggs remain upon it ; and so soon 
as a sufficiency of food can be regularly 
insured, to place them in the sun, or under 
the influence of an artificial temperature, for 
the purpose of expediting the hatching. The 
paper tray for the worms, which is nothing 
more than a sheet of paper folded up at the 
ends and sides, may be about six inches 
square. When the eggs begin to hatch, let 
a piece of writing paper (pierced with nume- 
rous holes) be put over the eggs, through 
which the worms crawl as they hatch ; and 
on the paper lay some small twigs of mul- 
berry, with the leaves on. The worms, in 
getting through the holes, immediately lodge 
on the twigs, which, when covered, you 
should remove to another paper tray about 
eighteen inches square. More leaves should 
then be placed over the eggs, and removed 
as soon as the worms are upon them. The 
time of hatching generally commences at five, 
and lasts till nine o'clock in the morning. It 
will take about three days for the whole of 
the eggs to be hatched, and each day's hatch- 
ing should be placed on a separate tray, so 
as to occupy one-fourth of the space. The 
day of the month, too, should be carefully 
noted down, so as to prevent all future 

When first hatched, the produce of the 
egg appears like a small black worm, of about 
a quarter of an inch in length. Its first sign 
of animation is the desire which it evinces 
for obtaining food, in search of which it will 
roam about. But so little desire is there for a 
change of place on the part of these animals, 
that of the generality it may be said their 
inclination seldom causes them to travel over 
a greater space than three feet throughout 
the whole duration of their lives 1 

As soon as the worms have done coming 
forth for the day, and are removed, they 
should have a little food given to them. This 
may be a few young leaves, chopped very 
fine, which should be sprinkled over them. 
Some prefer giving the leaves whole, as they 
consider that, when chopped, they lose a 
considerable portion of their nutritive juices. 
The food must be given to them in very 
small quantities, so as at first not to cloy the 
appetite of the worm ; for the silkworm is a 

voracious eater. Indeed, its whole life ap- 
pears to be devoted to the satisfaction of its 
appetite. It will be found advisable to feed 
the worms at least four times a-day. The 
first meal should be given very early in the 
morning — the second about nine or ten ; the 
third at three in the afternoon, and the last 
at nine in the evening. 

The quantity of leaves given should in- 
crease at every meal up to the fifth day, and 
the chopped leaves should be spread a little 
wider every time that they are fed. Thus, 
as the worms increase in size, they will have 
more room to feed. This may be considered 
the proper course of management up to the 
fifth day from the time of hatching. On 
the sixth day, a less quantity should be 
given them. On the seventh, little will be 
required ; and on the eighth, or thereabouts, 
the first sickness, which is called moulting, 
will take place. 

This may be called the " first age " of the 
silkworm. On the third day from its first 
refusal of food, the animal appears on that 
account much wasted in its bodily frame, — 
a circumstance which naturally assists it in 
the painful operation of casting its skin. In 
order to facilitate this moult, a kind of humor 
is thrown off by the worm, which, spreading 
between the body and the skin about to be 
abandoned, lubricates their surfaces, and 
causes them to separate more readily. It 
also emits from its body silken traces, which, 
adhering to the spot on which it rests, serve 
to confine the skin to its then existing position. 
In two or three minutes from the commence- 
ment of its efforts, the worm is wholly freed, 
and again puts on the appearance of health 
and vigor, feeding with renewed appetite upon 
its leafy banquet. When the silkworm gets 
over his first sickness and moulting, he is of 
a greyish color ; and his little trunk, or point 
of his head, is jet black, by which color he is 
then distinguished. It must, however, be 
observed that this first moulting, or casting 
their skins, depends entirely upon the tempe- 
rature in which they have been kept. If the 
temperature be kept up to seventy-five de- 
grees, they would cast their skins on the sixth 
or seventh day. As a rule, the hotter they 
are kept the more rapid their growth ; and 
they consequently go through their changes 
more quickly. Still, the risk is greater. 

The litter must not be cleared away from 
the worms until they have parted with their 
skin ; it should then be immediately removed. 
Great care must be always taken in giving 
the worms dry leaves. Indeed they ought 
always to be gathered some hours before they 
are used. Wet leaves almost invariably 
produce sickness and disease. 

The " second age " of the silkworm may 
be said to commence on the ninth day of its 
rearing; that is, supposing the moult to have 



taken place on the eighth. The routine of 
management is now nearly the same as 
during the first age. Mulberry twigs with 
the leaves on, or separate leaves, may be 
spread over them ; and as soon as the worms 
are fairly established upon them, they should 
be removed to clean paper trays kept in 
readiness. In this age they will require 
double the space to grow in, for they are now 
beginning to increase considerably in size. 
They must be laid in squares (about one 
fourth the space they will fill, during this age), 
and particular care must be taken to enlarge 
the squares every time they are fed. Proper 
attention, too, must be paid to the quantity 
of food given, which must be increased up 
to the fourth day of the second sickness. On 
the fifth day they will require but little, and 
on the sixth little or none, as they will now 
become torpid. When at this age, the leaves 
need not be cut at all, but given as they are 
gathered from the tree. They will now con- 
sume double the quantity ; and in much less 

The temperature of the room in which they 
are kept should be as equable as possible. 
The apartment should be well ventilated, but 
no strong current of air should be allowed to 
pass over the worms. When the sun shines 
brightly, a blind should be hung up against 
the window ; for the intense rays of the sun 
are very hurtful to them. The neglect of 
these precautions is the cause (too often) of 
failure and disappointment. 

The " third age " of the silkworm com- 
mences from about the fifteenth day of its 
birth. The worms, after their third sickness, 
will have increased to such a size as again to 
require double the space which they had 
during their second age, and four times the 
quantity of food. When they have revived 
from their sickness, which can be told by 
their increased activity and apparent anxiety 
or food, they should be removed to clean 
trays. The food must be gradually increased 
up to the fifth day ; but on the sixth, half 
the quantity will be sufficient. On the seventh, 
little or none must be given, seeing that, on 
the eighth, they will begin to cast their skins 
and enter upon their fourth age. 

The " fourth age" of the silkworm com- 
mences about the twenty-first day of its 
birth. ^ In this age they will consume nearly 
three times the quantity of haves which they 
did in the third age. The leaves should now 
be givenin their natural state {not chopped) ; 
and the worms will require at least double the 
extent of space which was allotted to them in 
the preceding ages. Remove them, as in the 
previous ages ; and every time they are fed 
increase the quantity of food up to the fifth 
day. On the sixth day give about half the 
quantity ; and on the seventh day little or 
none. They are now about to pass through 

their last moult, and enter upon their final 
and most precarious stage as silkworms. 

At this age of the worms, most particular 
attention must be paid to the temperature. 
If the weather be very cold, a fire ought to 
be made in the apartment in which they are 
kept ; and every method adopted to prevent 
the worms being exposed to any damp. All 
objects yielding any offensive smell should 
be removed, and the air in which they are 
kept should be occasionally renewed. This 
may be effected by sprinkling the apartment 
with chloride of lime. 

The u fifth age " commences about the 
28th day from the birth ; and this may be con- 
sidered the commencement of the largest and 
most dangerous size of the silkworm. The 
greatest attention must now be paid — not only 
to the feeding, but to the ventilating of the 
apartment ; and be sure to keep up a regular 
temperature, and prevent the entrance of 
dampness and noxious air. Strict attention, 
too, must be paid to the excrement of the 
worms. This and the refuse leaves must be 
removed every morning. Cleanliness is of 
the greatest importance in the keeping of 

In this last age, the worms should be fed 
with full-grown leaves, given whole. The 
quantity they require, if they be in good 
health, will be about four times what they con- 
sumed during their first four ages. On no ac- 
count must the leaves be given in a wet state ; 
and it will be advisable that a stock be always 
kept in hand, in case of wet weather. If the 
leaves be two days old, they will answer very 
well, but they must be kept dry; not piled 
upon each other, but spread out singly, and 
turned occasionally, to prevent the tops from 

Up to the sixth day, they will consume 
an immense quantity of leaves, and of course 
the quantity must be increased every time 
the worms are fed. Every morning, bear in 
mind, they should be removed to clean trays. 
If it be found necessary to remove a few of 
the large worms, it is a good plan to take them 
up with a quill. The less they are handled 
the better ; for the heat of our hands being 
much greater than their bodies, it does them 
an injury from which they frequently never 
recover. The paper trays used the first day 
will answer for the third, and so on. For 
the seventh day, a less quantity of leaves 
will be required than on the former day ; 
and on the eighth day still less. On the 
ninth day very few will be required ; but it 
should be well remembered that the worms 
should have as much food given them as they 
will consume. This should be most carefully 
attended to, in this age of the silkworm. It 
now requires all the nutrition that can be 
administered to it. The juices from which 
the silk is to be produced are commencing to 



be elaborated ; and if nutrition be withheld, 
or only sparingly supplied, the silk will be 
weak and flimsy — hardly, indeed, better than 
what is generally known by the name of floss 

The general rules for feeding are as fol- 
lows : — During the first three ages, the leaves 
should be cut very fine ; and instead of dis- 
tributing them with the hand, much time 
would be saved, and the distribution made 
more equally, by using small sieves, with 
meshes about three-quarters of an inch square. 

Between the moults, there is always an 
increased appetite, especially in the last 

At the approach of each moult, the worms 
raise and toss about their heads, and the 
appetite diminishes. It is not necessary to 
spread leaves, except on those which have 
not ceased eating ; and when they are all at 
rest, the feeding may be stopped entirely. 

After the moult, it is necessary to increase 
gradually the quantity of nourishment, in 
proportion to the increased appetite of the 

During the fourth age, the leaves are to be 
cut, but not so fine as before. 

At the fifth age, cease cutting the leaves. 

After the final moult, the silkworm has at- 
tained its full growth, and presents the ap- 
pearance of a slender caterpillar from 2£ to 
three inches in length. 

We would here remark that one of the 
greatest drawbacks to the successful keeping 
of silkworms in this country, and conse- 
quently to the realisation of any profit, is the 
lateness in which the foliage of the mulberry 
tree breaks forth in England, which is 
seldom before the latter end of April or the 
beginning of May ; and it must be borne in 
mind that the leaf of the mulberry is the 
natural food of the silkworm. Lettuces, 
dandelion, currant leaves, plum, and apple 
leaves are made (from necessity) to supply 
the place of the mulberry leaf; but these, on 
account of their generally watery and succu- 
lent nature, are very sorry substitutes. The 
silkworm will certainly subsist upon them, 
but never arrive at that degree of perfection 
from which a good and rich quality of silk 
may be expected. 

The early hatching of the eggs is therefore 
by no means a desirable event ; on the con- 
trary, it ought to be retarded, for, in the 
majority of cases, the eggs are hatched before 
even a leaf is seen on the mulberry tree, and 
the question then naturally presents itself, as 
to the next most nutritious food which in 
this dilemma can be given to the worms. 
Our choice, by necessity, falls upon the com- 
mon cabbage lettuce, which is to be obtained 
in all the markets during the spring, inde- 
pendently of the facility with which every 
one can grow them in their own garden. In 

order to guard against the early hatching, 
it is of the utmost consequence to keep the 
eggs in as cold a place as possible, and free 
from damp. This last is very pernicious. If 
possible, they should not be brought into the 
warmth to hatch before the latter end of 
April or the beginning of May. 


We now lay before our readers some very 
singular, original Experiments, recently made 
by Bombyx Atlas, — a gentleman, whose 
name is a sufficient guarantee for the exact 
truth of every word he pens down ; and whose 
fame as a practical entomologist needs no 
comment from us. 

The worthy veteran has sent us a Table 
of Operations and Experiments ; and 
with it, a few remarks.* These we give in 
his own natural, unvarnished, simple words ; 
merely adding, that his experiments have 
been pursued with unremitting ardor for two 
long months : — 

I have kept silkworms, my dear Sir, ever 
since I was a school- boy ; and I have tried, 
many and many a time, to rear them upon 
other leaves than those of the mulberry. 
But invariably without success. 

With me, they have never come to the 
third change (as they ought to do), unless 
they have their natural food. I have fed 
them on the black mulberry, the white mul- 
berry, and the paper mulberry; and have 
always found the strongest and most glossy 
silk produced by the worms fed on the black 
mulberry. I have been most particular in 
bringing up silkworms hatched the same year, 
and at the same period, from the same nest of 
eggs ; and have, in all cases, found those fed 
on the black mulberry thrive the best. 

I intended this year to try the experiment 
mentioned by " Heartsease," Hants, at pages 
183 and 184, Vol. III., of "Our Journal." 
I commenced the indigo operation; and I 
must honestly confess, that finding the hearts 
of my poor patients ill at ease, I at once gave 
up the experiment. It was evident to me, 
that they suffered ; and I therefore turned 
my attention to a different amusement, — and 
one which may perhaps be interesting to 
some of your readers. But E will never, for 
the sake of an experiment, knowingly inflict 
pain upon any animal or insect. 

I send you herewith, a table of my amusing 
experiments, which will speak for itself. I 
beg you to observe that this little practical 
synopsis was all the result of observations 

* It gives us pleasure to say, that we have seen 
all the silk produced in these experiments. The 
richness of its color is transcendently beautiful. — 
Ed. K. J. 



upon the self-same hundred worms through- 
out. Should any of your readers have some 
eggs of the silkworm which produces the 
white silk, or the pale straw, and also be 
willing to send me a few hundred eggs, I will 
(l).V.) make a similar synopsis, and send it 
to Our Journal; giving you as many 
orange-colored as you can wish in exchange. 

I will here simply remark that I weighed 
a skein of silk, produced from 100 pale straw- 
colored worms, reared in the year 1841, and 
it gave 81 grains. Also a skein of white 
silk reared in 1840, and it gave 72 grains. 

The average weight of these white cocoons 
with the silk taken off preparatory to winding 
(1840), is 6 grains and 9-10ths. And the 
average weight of the cocoon of pale straw- 
colored silk, before the silk is taken off pre- 
paratory to winding, is 6 grains and 6-10ths. 

The few following remarks appear to me 
curious and striking. They are taken from 
the Table I now send you. 

100 cocoons, after the loose silk was taken 
off preparatory to winding, weighed 1587 
grains and 8-10ths. 

Now, Mr. Editor, it would appear that the 
weight of 100 full chrysalides (1437 grains), 
and the weight of the skein of silk produced 
(109 grains and 8-10ths), should give the 
same result. But they do not They give 
only 1546 grains and 8-10ths ; or a loss of 
41 grains. This may, however, be accounted 
for by a certain loss of silk consequent upon 
the operation of winding, as well as the 
rejection of the slight filmy envelope which 
surrounds the chrysalis. 

Again, it would appear that the weight of 
100 empty chrysalides (20 grains and 9-10ths) 
and that of 100 moths (871 grains and 4- lOtlis), 
ought to give the same result as that of 1 00 
full chrysalides. But it is far otherwise ; 
and here we have a remarkably striking fact. 
There is a loss of no less than 544 grains and 
7-10ths. This is occasioned, no doubt, by 
the transformation of the soft substance, 
which at first filled the chrysalis, into the 
beautiful feathery moth, which, after a while, 
breaks forth.* 

Now for the grand climax. We find that, 
from 100 eggs, weighing only 1 grain and 
3-10ths, are produced 100 silkworms, mea- 
suring in length 25 feet, and weighing 8 
ounces and ll-48ths. These produce a skein 
of silk of 13 miles and 4-5ths in length, and 
weighing 109 grains and 8-10ths; leaving, 

* It may here be imagined, that I ought to 
have taken into consideration the weight of the 
fluid ejected by the moths, and so make the pro- 
per allowance. But, be it observed, it is not 
every moth that does eject the fluid, — say one- 
third ; so, if we reckon 20 grains on this account, 
it will still leave a deficiency of 524 grains and 
7-10ths.— B. A. 

after the silk is wound off, 100 chrysalides 
weighing 1437 grains. These, in a short time 
after, produce 100 moths, which weigh 871 
grains, and 4-lOths, leaving behind them 
their empty chrysalides which only weigh 20 
grains and 9-10ths. 

Truly marvellous and astounding are all 
the works of the omnipotent God 1 

Bombyx Atlas. 
Tottenham, Aug. 20. 




Fed from the Egg on the leaves of the Black 
Mulberry. Hatched 20th May, 1853. 

100 Silkworms produced 73,370 feet of silk, or 

about 13 miles and 4-5ths. 
Average length of silk produced per silkworm, 

733 feet and 7-10ths. 
Average length of full-grown silkworm, on easy 

stretch, 2 inches and 3-4ths. 
Average length of full-grown silkworm, on full 

stretch, 3 inches. 
Average girth of full-grown silkworm, 1 inch and 

Length of 100 silkworms on easy stretch, 22 feet 

11 inches. 
Length of 100 silkworms on full stretch, 25 feet. 
Girth of 100 silkworms, 10 feet 5 inches. 
Weight of skein of silk, produced from iOO silk- 
worms, 109 grains and 8-10ths. 
Average weight of silk produced by each silk- 
worm, 1 grain and 98-1000ths. 
Average weight of full-grown silkworm, 39 grains 

and 5-10ths. 
Weight of 100 silkworms, 8 ounces and ll-48ths. 
Weight of 100 cocoons, before the loose silk was 

taken off preparatory to winding, 1628 grains 

and 9-10ths. 
Average weight of cocoon, before the loose silk 

was taken off preparatory to winding, 16 grains 

and 289-1 OOOths. 
Weight of 100 cocoons, after the loose silk was 

taken off preparatory to winding, 1587 grains 

and 8-10ths. 
Average weight of cocoon, after the loose silk was 

taken off preparatory to winding, 15 grains and 

Weight of 100 full chrysalides, 1437 grains. 
Average weight of full chrysalis, 14 grains and 

Weight of 100 empty chrysalides, 20 grains and 

9-10ths. _ 
Average weight of empty chrysalis, the 209-1000th 

part of a grain. 
Weight of 100 moths half male and half female, 

735 grains. 
Average weight of males, 4 grains and 7-10ths. 
Average weight of females, 10 grains. 
Weight of 100 eggs, 1 grain and 3-10ths. 
Average Weight of one egg, the 13-1 000th part 

of a grain. 
These 100 silkworms produced 100 moths, 40 of 

which were males, and 60 females. They 

weighed 871 grains and 4-10ths. 



Average weight of the fluid ejected by the moth 
shortly after its escape from the chrysalis, the 
55-100th part of a grain. 

Color of silk produced, rich orange. 

[Here terminates this " strange eventful 
history." Let us cherish the ardent hope, 
— most sincerely expressed, — that our rising 
youth will lend a willing ear to the detail of 
such matters. The world is full of similar 
wonders. It is the disposition to investigate 
them that is alone wanting.] 


How sweetly Nature strikes the ravish' d eye 
Through the fine veil with which she oft conceals 
Her charms, in part, as conscious of decay ! 

'Tis now the mellow season of the year, 
When the hot sun singes the yellow leaves 
Till they be gold, — and, with a broader sphere, 
The moon looks down on Ceres and her sheaves ; 
When more abundantly the spider weaves, 
And the cold wind breathes from a chilling clime. 

What a curious world is this we 
inhabit ! Or rather, what curious people are 
those of whom the world consists ! We 
stick to our favorite opinion that the world 
itself is good as ever ; it is we who are found 

As late as to the very end of July, people 
were grumbling sorely about the prospect of 
the harvest. It was said that the quartern 
loaf would assuredly soon be sold for one 
shilling ; that horses would soon be starved ; 
and that desolation would presently prevail 
amongst us to an extent never known. July 
closed under these heavy forebodings of 
coming sorrow ; and August dawned with 
anything but a hearty welcome. 

But how did the advent of August reproach 
the grumbling multitude ! Full of smiles, 
and full of tenderness, she brought with her 
the glorious sun, who, in all his splendor has 
continued with us ever since ; doing good to 
his enemies with a heartiness that makes us 
love him better than ever. Oh ! how we do 
rejoice to bask in his golden rays, and wander 
abroad in his sweet company through the fields 
of golden grain ! He smiles, and his smile 
blesses all nature. The atheist retires to his 
den ; the cavillers at the Creator's goodness 
mumble out some sort of an excuse for their 
shortsightedness ; the valleys shout and sing; 
the barns are well rilled with the fruits of the 

earth ; and at last we confess that all is 

quite right. 

When will people begin to learn that 
Nature delights in compensating for any 
apparent deficiency ? How easy is it for her 
to make up for (what WE call) lost time ! In 
all our walks, and observations by the way, 
we have seen reason, during the past month, 

to rejoice with exceeding great joy. An 
abundance of good things has been visible 
on every hand, and the Goddess of Plenty 
has showered down upon us blessings out of 

If our readers could get access to our 
heart, and read therein written what we have 
sensibly enjoyed since last we chatted with 
them, they would agree with us, — that such 
feelings could never find utterance on paper. 
The month of August possesses charms of 
the most exquisite kind for those who idolise 

It is now that this loving, blessed mother, 
rests from her labors. She has done, by 
her creative power, all that she has to 
do. She now looks on at the in-gathering 
and proper distribution of her gifts to man- 
kind. And oh, — what tongue shall tell, what 
pen note down, the broad expanse of her 
power ! Far beyond the reach of vision — 
far beyond the realms of thought, extend her 
lavish bounties ; and, as we see the busy 
laborers at work in the fields, and listen to 
the distant voices in the villages and barns 
mingled with the tinkling of sheep-bells, the 
lowing of oxen, and occasionally the striking 
of the country church clock, — the whole, 
united, makes the heart happy. 

But we must quit this land of pleasing 
dreams. Would that such dreams would 
tarry longer with us ! They are so refreshing ! 
We are now in September. 

Of all months in the year, this perhaps is 
the most enjoyable, — we mean, of course, out 
of doors ; for no sane person would remain 
at home in September. All that has life now 
basks in the sunshine ; and — 

There is no sunshine like the sky 

Of these mild, breezy, cloudless Autumn days, 

Which tempt once more abroad the butterfly 

To search for lingering flowers ; when the green 

Of ash, now loosened, drop on him who strays 
Through woodland paths, while the light yellow 

Of fading trees come dancing down all ways, 
Like winged things ; and oft the stream receives 
Full many a tiny voyager, whirl'd along 
Amid its eddies, — when the gossamer spreads 
O'er the fresh clods her trembling silvery threads. 

The mention of the word September, brings 
with it a solemn truth, — the year is in its 
decline. Already have we heard the lively 
song of the autumn robin sweetly welcoming 
in the " harvest home." Perched aloft on a 
hedge-stake, or a stile, he tells us plainly 
that the season has changed, and that with it 
come signs of gradual decay : — 

Sweet little bird, in russet coat, 
The livery of the closing year ! 
We love thy lonely, plaintive note, 
And tiny whispering song to hear. 



While on the stile or garden seat 
We sit to watch the falling leaves, 
The song thy little joys repeat 
Our loneliness relieves. 

But we delight to gaze on this lovely change, 
and we glory in the season of Autumn : — 

What though the radiance which was once so 

Be now for ever taken from our sight, 
Though nothing can bring back the hour 
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower, 
We will grieve not — rather find 
Strength in what remains behind. 

We are known advocates for early rising ; 
and during the present month in par- 
ticular : — 

The innocent brightness of a n«w-born day 

Is lovely yet ;. 
The clouds that gather round the setting sun 
Do take a sober coloring from an eye 
That watches o'er the years mortality. 

It is just now that the garden contains 
living objects innumerable, to keep you spell- 
bound with admiration. The geometric 
spider is now holding his court on every 
bush.* This skilful architect must be closely 
regarded. That palace of his is surpassingly 
wonderful, — the construction of a " cunning 
workman." The more time you now assign 
to an examination of the insect world, the 
better. A world of living wonders is about 
you, all round you, aye, — beneath your 

Nor must you fail to walk abroad during 
the day, and observe what is so actively 
going forward in the fields. At even-tide, 
too, ramble forth, good folk ; and behold the 
glorious moon, who views with no little 
interest what is passing around us. Our 
autumnal evenings are, for the most part, 

To sum up all that is going forward this 
month would be impossible. The first day 
of September is a blot. It is a signal for 
remorseless acts of butchery and wanton 
cruelty. Partridges, and theirinnocent fami- 
lies, are separated ruthlessly ; and after being, 
some slaughtered, and others frightfully 
wounded, the survivors meet at night to 
condole with each other as best they may. 
Their murderers, meantime, and those whose 
want of skill has left many of their would- 
be victims without a leg or a wing, are joy- 
ously carousing, and telling gleefully of their 
deeds of blood — to be continued on the 
morrow. Man ! thou art a savage. 

Gleaning, too, is going forward this month. 
We love to wander among the tribe of gleaners, 
far away in the real country. The gleaners 
round London know too much for us. Sim- 

* We spoke at large of the Spider, and its 
marvellous operations, in our Second Volume, 
pp. 233 and 275. 

plicity, we guess, and innocence, lie far 
remote from cities. In our early days we 
enjoyed those scenes, and could assist the 
little reapers harmlessly. Many a walk have 
we had, side by side with a pretty, nut-brown, 
innocent face ; a merry, prattling tongue, a 
neat, trim figure, and an amiable heart. Those 
days, alas ! are gone — to return no more. 

The hop-harvest, too, is now at hand ; and 
a glorious sight it is to see the hop-pickers 
busily at work under a fine bright sky. May 
the produce be heavy ! As for the apples, 
pears, wall-fruit, &c, &c, there is really no 
end to them this year. In short, there is 
plenty of everything. We have been here, 
there, everywhere — and there appears but 
one tale to tell. If the wheat was prostrated 
by the heavy storms, most of it recovered 
itself in good ,time ; and we find the harvest 
will be an excellent one. The hay, too, is 
by no means such a scanty crop as was re- 
presented — far from it. The alarmists have 
been foiled. "There is corn in Egypt," 
enough to stand many a siege ! 

The " signs of the times " are now made 
evident by the restlessness of certain of our 
little birds of passage. Their summer visit has 
nearly terminated. Their prophetic instinct 
has warned them that it is time to collect 
their offspring, and prepare for a lengthened 
flight. — By the way, we have been asked 
about our promised articles on " Instinct and 
Reason." They shall appear soon. 

We have left ourself no room to speak of 
our autumnal flowers — the China Aster, the 
Dahlia, the Convolvulus, the Scabious, the 
Arbutus, &c. These, and many of last 
month's flowers, are in all their glory. The 
garden really looks quite gay and animated. 
As for rural scenery, all nature has put on 
her richest looks. The firs are gradually 
darkening towards their winter blackness. 
The oaks, limes, poplars, and horse-chestnuts 
still retain their very darkest summer green. 
The elms and beeches are changing to that 
bright yellow which produces, at a distance, 
the effect of patches of sunshine ; and the 
sycamores, in one or two localities, we 
observe, are assuming a brilliant warmth of 
hue almost amounting to scarlet. 

The birds who have been recently lost 
to sight, whilst moulting, now begin to peep 
out at us from the hedges as we pass, and 
invite us to look at their new coats. New, 
indeed ! How lovely and how innocent 
are their wearers ! It is a curious fact, 
that birds should, during this painful 
effort of nature, retire altogether from ob- 
servation. They/eeZ themselves " unclean ;" 
and till the fever is over, they will not 
present themselves to the eye. If time and 
space permitted, we could give a very 
pretty illustration of this in the case of 
" our own " robin, who has been partially 



hidden in the garden, among the leaves of 
the trees, for the last month — gliding mys- 
teriously in and out as we passed and re- 

A short time since, we had a day "at 
home," for gardening purposes. Then was 
it that we took the interesting " notes " 
we have alluded to. This little rogue sang 
softly to us among the bushes all day. 
He never left us one moment; but, being 
not thoroughly " clean," he kept as much 
out of sight as possible — merely crossing 
and re-crossing the path quickly. Con- 
nected with this little bird, we could tell a 
string of pretty facts. Of the love existing 
between us, none can form an idea — save 
those who can appreciate the qualities of 
the robin. His love for mankind is as- 
tounding; though few of them are worthy 
of it. But we must close this paper. 

We have said nothing of the holiday- 
folk this month ; nor made any allusion to 
their habits of drinking, smoking, &c. No 
doubt they will be all the better pleased for 
the omission ; seeing that we are apt to be 
somewhat severe on these, their recognised 
" pleasures." 

The boarding-houses at our summer 
watering-places are now having it all their 
own way. The thick half-pint decanters 
are carefully distributed (as usual), we 
understand, to each of the bearded tabbies, 
whose skill in guaging what was left, and 
severity in commenting on the "marked" 
deficiency, are as remarkable as ever. Scandal 
too, reigns high as ever ; and character is as 
remorselessly butchered. 

Au reste — the steamers are over-crowded 
with " fast men ; " the railways ditto. Half 
London has long since fled ; the second half 
is preparing to fly. The streets are dusty 
and dull ; tradesmen are yawning and inac- 
tive ; and business is brought to a stand-still. 
Pic-nics, parties of pleasure, &c, are pro- 
gressing merrily in all parts ; and " work " 
is universally voted — a bore. 

What pleases us more than all is, that our 
Evil Genius, the organ-grinder, has taken his 
departure too. It is hard for us to linger in 
London under any circumstances, during this 
splendid season ; but it is just bearable now 
that our enemy has withdrawn with his 
" infernal machine." Oh ! the contents of 
those boxes of whistles ! Surely Satan set 
the tunes, and his emissaries "play them 
up ! " 

That WE are not a maniac, may be set 
down as one of the wonders of the day. Let 
us glory in so remarkable a fact ! 

Wisdom is an ocean that has no shore ; its 
prospect is not terminated by an horizon ; its 
centre is everywhere, and its circumference 



BY F. J. GALL, M.D. 

(Continued from Page 39.) 

We now proceed with our increasingly-inter- 
esting Inquiry, and introduce to day our views of 

Moral Liberty. 

We cannot, and we ought not to admit any 
other liberty than that which is in accordance 
with the general laws of nature and with the 
nature of man. We have seen that an unlimited 
liberty and an absolute liberty are in contradiction 
with the nature of a being created and dependent. 
The liberty which we ought to acknowledge, must 
consider man as a being subject to the laws of 
causes and effects : this liberty must render the 
individual and the lawgivers responsible for good 
and evil. In this liberty, our acts must have the 
quality of merit and demerit. The development of 
this liberty must convey the full conviction, that 
it depends not only on the organisation, but also 
on the influences of external things ; whether man 
is more or less master of his actions ; and that 
social institutions, education, morality, religion, 
laws, punishments and rewards, are eminently use- 
ful and indispensable. A liberty, which has all 
these characteristics, is a moral liberty. 

Moral liberty is the faculty of being determined 
and of determining one's self by motives ; or, in 
other words, liberty is the power of willing, or not 
willing, after deliberation. It is this liberty, 
which has been the subject of the lessons of the 
ancient philosophers and lawyers — the only liberty, 
the application of which to social life and to each 
individual, can have the most extended influence* 
The moral code and the religion of all nations 
themselves, suppose only this species of liberty ; 
since their only object is to furnish to us the most 
powerful and the noblest motives to direct our 

There are, then, two principal points to con- 
sider in moral liberty ; the faculty of being deter- 
mined, and the faculty of determining one's self 
by motives. 

To make these two points clear, it is first neces- 
sary to remove a difficulty which results from my 
two propositions already proved — viz. that all our 
dispositions, propensities, and talents are innate, 
and that their manifestation depends on the or- 
ganisation. It may be asked, to what extent 
moral liberty can reconcile itself with these two 
truths ? " Man," it is said, " can in no wise change 
what is innate ; no more can he change his organ- 
isation. He must, consequently, act as the innate 
faculties and qualities, and their organs permit, or 
rather command him." 

It is true that man cannot change his organ- 
isation ; nor the results which follow directly from 
it. Moreover, he has no control over accidental 
impressions produced from without. Thus, when 
by the effect of his organisation, or of external 
stimuli, there arise in him sensations, propen- 
sities, feelings, ideas, wishes, — we must consider 
him, as respects these impressions, desires, and 
thoughts, as the slave of his own organisation and 
the external world. 

Each organ, when put in action, gives him a 



sensation, a propensity, a succession of ideas ; and, 
in this respect, he has no empire over himself, 
except so far as he might prevent or produce the 
action of the organs. As it is impossible for him 
not to feel hunger when his stomach acts in a 
certain manner, so it is impossible for him not to 
feel the desires of the flesh, or any other propen- 
sity whatever, for good or for evil, when the 
organs of these propensities are in a state of ex- 
citement. It would, therefore, be unjust to render 
man responsible for the existence of these sensa- 
tions and desires ; and for him to make of them a 
personal merit or demerit. 

But we must be cautious ; for it is a great mis- 
take to confound propensities and desires with 
will. To will, is nothing less than to feel desires, as 
M. Eicherand quotes with approbation from M. de 
Tracy, or as Fichte says, the simple tendency of 
the faculties to act ; and desire is nothing less 
than a movement of the will towards a good which 
one does not possess, as it is defined in the Dic- 
tionary oj the French Academy. 

The ancients spoke of desires, concupiscences, 
volitions, or inclinations, and distinguished them 
carefully from will. Kant has with reason followed 
them, and Condillac says, on this subject, with 
much justice, " As it does not depend on us, not 
to have the wants which are the result of our con- 
formation, it no more depends on us not to be 
inclined to do that to which we are determined by 
these wants." 

It is then, also, from having confounded these 
various affections, desires, concupiscences, inclina- 
tions, with true will, that men have found inex- 
tricable difficulties relative to moral liberty. There 
is reason to deny freedom, as respects the existence 
of the desire ; but it is a false inference to conclude 
that the will and the acts are equally wanting in 
freedom. The desires, the propensities, are the 
result of the action of a single organ ; as I have 
shown in treating of the origin of moral qualities 
and intellectual faculties. Will, on the contrary, 
is a decision, a determination, produced by the 
examination and comparison of several motives. 

Let us examine how man becomes capable of 
will, and, consequently, of moral liberty ; how man 
can be in opposition with his desires ; and how 
this same will, this same freedom, acquires, in 
different individuals, a different extent. 

Let us represent to ourselves a being, endowed 
with a single organ. This being could perceive 
only a single species of sensations or ideas, and 
would be capable of exercising only a single species 
of faculties. Such a single organ might well be 
put in action by internal and external irritations, 
and be exercised in this action by frequent repeti- 
tions. But this individual would not be suscep- 
tible of any other sensation or idea. It would be 
impossible for him to compare sensations and ideas 
of different kinds, and to choose between them. 
Consequently, as soon as the single organ should 
be put in action, there would be no reason why 
the animal should not follow the propensity put in 
motion, or the idea awakened by this action ; he 
would, therefore, be under absolute restraint ; or, 
rather, he would have no possibility to do otherwise 
than submit himself to this motive, to this single 
impulse. The inaction or action of this being, 
would result simply from the activity or inactivity 
of this single faculty. It is thus that the inferior 

animals are invariably limited to their aptitudes or 
their instincts. 

As soon as animals are endowed with several 
organs (as happens especially in the more perfect 
orders), they also become susceptible of different 
species of sensations and ideas. It is true that, 
in this case, the action of one organ destroys 
neither the existence nor the action of another ; 
consequently, it can no more destroy the sen- 
sations and ideas excited by this organ. But an 
organ may act with more energy, and furnish a 
more powerful motive. The instant you have 
presented food to a hungry dog, and when he is 
on the point of devouring it, make a hare pass 
before him, and he will run after the hare, though 
he has not ceased to feel the sensation of hunger. 
If you repeatedly employ violence to prevent the 
dog from pursuing the hare, he remembers the 
blows which await him ; and, though the ardor 
of his desire occasions him tremors and palpita- 
tions, he will no more trust himself in the pursuit. 
If the dog were only susceptible of hunger, or if 
he had propensity and faculty only for the chase, 
this mode of action would be impossible to him. 
It is then the plurality of organs which renders 
him susceptible of different ideas and sensations. 
But, as these ideas and these motives are not of 
a high order, we cannot call this faculty in animals, 
a moral freedom — a real faculty of willing ; we 
must regard it as simple spontaneity, or the faculty 
of being determined by the strongest and most 
numerous excitements. 

Now let us compare man to the most perfect 
animals. How are the motives, of which his more 
elevated organisation has made him susceptible, 
ennobled and multiplied ? Beside the propensities 
and the faculties which he has in common with 
animals, he distinguishes truth from error, justice 
from injustice ; he compares the present with the 
past, and reads the future ; he seeks and discovers 
the connection of causes and effects ; he has the 
sense of shame and decency ; he has sympathy 
and compassion, and can of himself discover the 
duties which he owes to others ; he is furnished 
with internal organs for morality and religion, for 
knowing and honoring an eternal and independent 
Being. His internal organisation, his language, 
tradition, education, &c, secure to him an abun- 
dant source of knowledge ; and furnish him an 
infinitely larger number of motives than animals 
can have. By means of his reason, he compares 
ideas and sensations, weighs their respective 
value, and can especially fix his attention on 
determinate motives. From all these operations, 
finally, results decision. It is this decision, the 
result of reason, and of the comparison of motives, 
which is properly willing ; and the act of willing, 
in opposition to the propensities, desires, volitions, 
the inclinations, and the simple sensation of con- 

It is now easy to conceive, how man may have 
desires and inclinations altogether different from 
will, and how his reason places him in oppo- 
sition to his desires. The senses are inflamed, 
and man feels himself incited to obey this move- 
ment ; but if he abandons himself to his desire of 
vengeance, he knows, by means of his intellectual 
faculties, that a base action will dishonor him, 
and that he will be rather regarded as the slave 
of his passions than as master of himself. If he 




throws himself into the arms of voluptuousness, 
the frightful image of his health destroyed, and 
his domestic felicity overthrown, presents itself to 
his eyes ; the regulations of social life, the shame 
of abusing confidence, the disastrous results of his 
conduct as affecting the beloved object, &c. &c. ; 
all these motives act in his mind, and by their 
force or their number succeed in overcoming him. 
It is thus that a man comes to will a thing pre- 
cisely the reverse of that to which his desires would 
have led him. 

Each one then ought to feel that, so long as 
the propensities and the desires are not awakened 
and nourished by the participation of the indi- 
vidual, he cannot be made responsible for them ; 
but that he is so for his determination, for his will 
and actions. Thus it is, and always will be true, 
that the organs of the moral faculties given by the 
Creator, are the principle of what we call some- 
times propensity, sometimes inclination, desire, or 
passion ; according to the different energy of action 
of these organs. Every one allows that, in this 
respect, the empire of man is limited ; it is not in 
his power to annihilate his propensities, nor to 
give himself inclinations at will. But, in the 
midst of the most earnest desires of man, if several 
faculties of a superior order, the exercise of which 
is maintained by a perfect organisation, act in 
him, and join themselves to the external motives 
which education, the laws, religion, &c, furnish 
him — these same desires are overcome. The will 
which man then manifests, is no longer the action 
of a single organ. 

It is the business of the man, secured within 
and without by multiplied motives, and endowed 
with the faculty of comparing them, to weigh 
them, and to be determined, or to determine him- 
self, according to these motives. Now it is incon- 
testable, that, so long as man enjoys his good 
sense, he can act thus ; and that he often wills and 
does the entire contrary of what his propensities 
direct him. Consequently, he is morally free. It 
is this liberty which makes of man a moral being, 
which gives to his actions morality and responsi- 

But, let us not believe that this faculty of 
willing or not willing, this moral liberty, has been 
given up to chance by the Creator. The deter- 
mination which takes place by motives, is also 
submitted to laws in such a manner that, in the 
exercise of moral liberty, there can never be any 
question as to unlimited or absolute liberty. The 
laws of nature, for instance, ordain that the facul- 
ties of an inferior order should obey those of a 
superior order ; that every living creature should 
love himself, and, consequently, employ all his 
means and his faculties for his own happiness. 
" All men," says Pascal, " desire to be happy. 
This is so without exception. The will makes no 
effort except toward this object. It is the motive 
of all the actions of all men, even of those who 
destroy themselves." Man must, then, necessarily 
desire a good, and dread an evil, which he ac- 
knowledges as such. If several motives present 
themselves, it is not in the power of the man to 
decide indifferently for one or the other ; but he is 
determined, according to the laws of thought, by 
the motive which acts most powerfully upon him, 
or offers him the greatest good. Without this 
necessity, man, with all his moral liberty, would 

fall into that unreasonable contradiction against 
the laws of nature, of which I have made mention 
in speaking of unlimited and absolute liberty. 

Meanwhile, this liberty, comformable to the 
dependence in which we are placed in the creation, 
to the laws of nature and of our organisation, 
fulfils all the conditions which we can expect from 
a finite, but reasonable being. It not only renders 
those who direct man, responsible, but makes 
each individual so, for his actions ; it is the only 
liberty which can be useful in life, and, as Locke 
says, the only one which is supposed in human 
institutions ; while, in admitting an unlimited or 
absolute liberty, all the efforts which tend to guide 
man, would be absurd. 

When certain philosophers require that we 
should practise virtue and justice, without any 
motive, for the sake of virtue only, — far from 
doing away with the necessity of motives, they 
present to you virtue and justice as the most 
sublime motives, and the most worthy to lead you 
to act. Every thing then proves, that in all 
states of human society, men have supposed no 
other freedom than that of being able to be deter- 
mined, or to determine one's self, by the most 
powerful motives. 

It is certain, that all individuals do not enjoy 
moral freedom to the same extent. How happens 

We have seen that the faculty of appreciating 
motives of a superior order constitutes the first 
condition of moral freedom. Now, all motives are 
founded either in our own constitution, on a happy 
organisation, or on external circumstances. As 
our internal faculties are more limited, the fewer 
motives will they furnish us to do good, or to 
avoid evil ; and the more the noble sentiments 
and faculties predominate over the propensities, 
the more will these be counterbalanced when 
their tendency becomes prejudicial. Thus, the 
man with great talents has more liberty than the 
ordinary man ; and the more the faculties descend 
towards idiocy, the more also moral liberty goes 
on decreasing. 

The second source of our motives is in external 
circumstances. The man who has fewest wants, 
will also be less tempted than the man who is 
sunk in misery. The man formed and cultivated 
by education, morality, and religion, and who 
understands the laws and the duties of society, 
will have infinitely more motives in his power 
than he whose heart and mind have been aban- 
doned to ignorance and brutality. In general, 
the greater disproportion there is between the 
motives, whether internal or external, and the 
energy of the propensities, the more precarious 
becomes the exercise of moral liberty. 


How very revolting it is, to behold how the 
love for " Number One " prevails just at this 
particular time ! And how very abominably ex- 
clusive " some people " are ! 

Even the sight of a play ful child on the sands 
by the sea-shore, we observe, gives " some people" 
annoyance ; and they gaze on the " happy inno- 
cent" with contempt as they sweep rustling past it. 
The human heart has become ossified. What has 
not * Fashion " got to answer for? 





(Continued from Page 41 .) 
It has been hot and hard work, my dear 
Mr. Editor, to collect my thoughts and arrange 
my papers this month. But the public eye is on 
me ; and I, like yourself, must go through what I 
have undertaken to perform. So now for my pen 
and ink. I am sitting on the very chair you sat 
on, when last we met. I love that chair ! [And 
we love you, too, dear Fino !] 

I have very often introduced to your notice my 
venerable friend, the " Grandpapa des Papillons," 
and I suspect, at the great age he reached before 
he was gathered to his fathers (nearly fourscore 
and four years), he was, perhaps, justly entitled 
to be so named among entomologists in Switzerland. 
This aged gentleman was equally well-known by 
the name of the " Vieux Silene" {Satyrus circe). 
His collection of insects was rich indeed, and I 
think I have heard Bombyx Atlas say that it is 
now the property of his grandson. Should he go 
on perfecting it with the zeal which so distin- 
guished his grandfather, what a collection of 
rarities this will in time become ! 

Do you know, Mr. Editor, there is one single 
spider worth travelling a hundred miles to see ! 
Bombyx has got a fellow that strides upwards of 
eight inches, (a neat creature this to catch a blue- 
bottle !) and, oh, if you could but behold old 
grandpapa's pet ! I ne-ver ! 

However, my object now is to portray to your 
mind's eye the great lion of entomologists — at least 
so I think him, Mr. Editor. I have heard old 
grandpapa mention him as the greatest entomolo- 
gist that ever lived ; and he was no bad judge. 
One must know something about insects before 
one equals the old grandpapa ; and yet the other 
was a giant even compared to him, albeit he was 
originally his pupil to a certain extent. 

It was delicate health that, in the first instance, 
compelled this great man to quit a continental 
city, his birthplace ; and that induced him to 
settle in a little village in the most lovely and 
wildest part of the most lovely and wildest country ; 
his sole object being then, the restoration of his 
health. During his " strolling dabbles," he would 
watch the motions of various insects ; catch butter- 
flies; and, after a while, bring up caterpillars. 
Here the right chord of his giant mind was struck, 
and he finished by purchasing the residence he 
now occupies, devoting himself to entomology. 
How many years ago he first became acquainted 
with the " Grandpapa des Papillons" I know not, 
but he must have been his junior by some sixteen 
or seventeen years — consequently must now be 
hovering upon the verge of some threescore years 
and ten. 

Well, it was a splendid autumnal evening, when 
the departing sun was gloriously illumining the 
lofty summit of the " Dent de Boree," "Dent 
d'Oche," the " Autan" &c., &c. The deep blue 
lake was as calm as a mirror, and reflected on its 
limpid surface the grand chain of the mountains 
of Savoy. "Bombyx" was in his little garden, 
discussing a "bahia," and enjoying the glories 
of the splendid evening. 

Myself and my brother were at our usual corner, 
on the top of the garden-wall ; when I presently 
saw Carlo wag his rude old tail (not such a gentle- 

man-like appendage as mine, Mr. Editor), in token 
of welcome, and of course I did the same. Look- 
ing up to see who it was that was so cordially 
greeted, I instantly perceived the old "grand- 
papa," and a step or two behind, we observed an 
elderly man, whom I put down as an impertinent 
intruder, annoying old grandpapa; accordingly 
I gave a significant growl to warn him off, and 
Carlo began to bark and show his teeth. Still 
they both advanced up the avenue. At last they 
both halted for a short time, and talking rather 
loudly, I thought they were quarrelling. Now, as 
we had a great veneration for the old grandpapa, 
we both leapt off the wall, determined to brush 
this intruder off in double-quick time, and so rid 
our aged friend of this supposed nuisance. 

Judge of our surprise. When we arrived they 
were both enjoying our mistake ! " Qu'est ce 
qu'il y a done, mes amis?" ejaculated the old 
grandpapa. "Le Bombyx, est il chez.lui?" 

" Was ist, mein liebe freund ? Was ist mein 
liebeFino?" said the elderly gentleman (where 
he heard my name I am quite at a loss to guess), 
with a most significant smile, and a peculiar twitch 
of the chin I never saw before. 

The noise brought the German servant to the 
door, and he, falling into the same mistake as 
ourselves, halloed out " Ei Du Schlimmer Spitz- 
bube wollen sie oder wollen fie nicht fort." 

Upon this, there was an out-and-out laugh 
between the "Vieux Silene" and his companion. 
At length they reached the garden, — the aged 
" Grandpapa" calling out " Bon soir, cher Bombyx. 
Bon soir, mon cher vieux Silene ! As tu quelque 
chose de bon pour souper, Bombyx ? Ah que si. 
Je viens souper avec vous mes amis, et je vous 

amene Monsieur W , le roy des entomologistes, 

— decidementle premier entomologiste d'Europe. 
II part pour Berne demain a six heures, et nous 
allons jouir de sa brave societe ce soir." Sur ceia 
Bombyx lui donne un welcome, worthy of the 
great man, and of his kind old friend. 

No sooner did I hear the name mentioned than 
I smelt a rat ; for I had often heard grandpapa 
name him with a species of enthusiasm. But I 
certainly was not prepared for such a singular 
exterior. However, our intruder (as we took him 
to be) was soon laughing and joking with Bombyx 
and the " vieux Silene." A bottle of " Perrier's" 
best sparkling was now brought up, and the 
German servant was despatched to the town to 
get something peculiarly '* piquant" for the 
" vieux Silene" and his companion, grumbling as 
he went along, " Was ist das fur ein kerl ?" 

This extraordinary man, Mr. Editor, as I have 
already observed, must be rapidly approaching 
threescore years and ten, and about five feet ten 
inches high ; moderately stout and thick-set, with 
a bald high forehead, and rather a sallow com- 
plexion, although a certain unmistakeable ruddy 
appearance denotes him a man capable of great 
exertion, and of undergoing great fatigue. A 
most remarkably expressive countenance was his, 
and a fine full hazel eye. He had grey hair, and 
a grey beard, which is nearly silvery under the 
chin. A most peculiar smile, too, was his ; and 
when particularly pleased, he utters an almost 
involuntary "ya — ya," which speaks volumes. 
Talk to him of "Sphinx alecto," "Lasiocampa 
Dryophaga." " Ya, ya. Das is gut," he will 



say, and you will see an involuntary raising of 
the right hand to the chin. Just mention the 
name of "Esuhe," and the poor chin is grasped 
hy the right hand, in a most unceremonious 
manner. The eyes sparkle with delight — "Ya, 
ya, das ist Seltenes. Das ist was — was." Show 
him a butterfly, whose name he does not instantly 
recollect, and out of his capacious side pocket 
comes a most compendious catalogue, interpaged 
and interlined so thickly and so closely, you 
wonder how he will discover what he wants. 
He next produces a large pair of round spectacles, 
in an old-fashioned steel frame, and the catalogue 
expanded in the left hand. He moistens the 
thumb and finger of the right hand, and hastily 
turning over a page or two, says, rather slowly, 
and in a subdued tone of voice, " Da sollte es 
unfehlbar seyn," next to so-and-so, and he always 
manages to let his finger fall mechanically upon 
the name of the insect. 

I cannot here resist giving you a short des- 
cription of his singular costume. He wore an 
ample pair of dark-brown pantaloons ; his shoes 
were very strong and large, and particularly 
square-toed. Either of them would have contained, 
easily, both the feet of the largest man I ever saw. 
He also wore a singular square-cut greenish olive 
waistcoat, very loose to his person, and an im- 
mense large coat of the same color and material ; 
a black cravat, and a curious large cloth cap, with 
broad leather front to shade the eyes. He was, 
however, a man full of intelligence, and a very 
great observer. Nothing escaped his keen eye. 
He was not so polished as the " Vieux Silene," but 
he was indeed a most wonderful character ; liberal, 
kind-hearted, and communicative. Every word 
he spoke, every look he gave, conveyed a meaning. 
Moreover, he took a great fancy to my old master, 
who profited greatly by his entomological know- 
ledge and experience, and many, many a most 
valuable specimen in his collection does he owe to 
this great man's kindly feeling towards him. 

Never did this king of entomologists come 
within reach of old Bombyx's habitation but he 
spent part of the day, at least, with him — and 
with the "Vieux Silene," of course; and he 
seldom came without bringing some specimens of 
rarest value. Should he ever come into this 
country, my dear Mr. Editor, you shall be intro- 
duced to him [thank you dear Fino] ; but I 
doubt his now so doing. He has often been as 
far as Paris, but never was tempted to visit 
London. Possibly he feared the over-kindness of 
the great Scotch entomologist would quite over- 
power him. He is so very kind to poor " strolling 

Singularly clad as this curious individual was 
— it was from no lack of means ; another proof of 
the folly of judging of the characters of people by 
external appearances ! He was a man of very 
considerable property, but who enjoyed his own 
peculiar fancies in all honest simplicity. At the 
same time, he felt deeply any slight to himself, 
on account of his odd dress, and somewhat uncouth 
manners. When any body superciliously sneered 
at his odd ways, and at the same time presumed 
to seek for any information, he would plainly tell 
them — " Yetzt konnen sie schwarzes brod fressen." 
He was uncommonly full of quaint drollery, and 
could take and give a joke as well as any man. 

To speak of his entomological researches, his 
entomological labors, his entomological mind, 
altogether — is more than I can attempt to do. I 
must refer you for that to my old master. The 
many splendid insects actually discovered, or again 
brought to light, after having been lost sight of 
during a very long period of time, by the exertions 
of this indefatigable entomologist, is perfectly 
astonishing. Would that a few more entomolo- 
gists would imitate his great perseverance, and 
his simple simplicity ! What a lesson of humility 
would half-an-hour's communication with this 
great man impress upon the minds of some ento- 
mologists ! They certainly would not leave him 
without feeling their great inferiority. They 
would be equally charmed, too, with his unaffected 

What an universal pass kindness is, Mr. Editor, 
How quickly we dogs can perceive who is kind 
and who is not ! This great man , Mr. Editor, is 
very regular in his hours and habits. He rises 
with or before the sun, generally speaking. Oc- 
casionally he takes no rest at all. The midnight 
hour — one, two, three — nay every hour may every 
now and then find him at his beautiful study. 
His breakfast is very simple, consisting of a cup 
of coffee and a little brown bread and butte*. He 
dines very frugally, at one o'clock. His great 
enjoyment appears to be his supper (which, at 
home, is always early), especially in winter, when 
he is surrounded by his family, and, may be, a 
friend or two, and enlivened by his " Schoppchen" 
of old wine and a crackling fire. He discourses 
most naively on any occurrences that have hap- 
pened to him during his different travels; or 
perhaps, in his own most peculiar expressive 
manner, will describe the particular ways and 
habits of some insect upon which he may have 
been questioned. 

I scarcely think, Mr. Editor, there is any great 
entomologist, now living, who does not benefit, 
more or less, directly or indirectly, by the great 
labors of this individual. Such however are 
his modesty and simplicity, that he does not like 
his name to be introduced anywhere. 

By the way, I had almost forgotten to tell you 
that he is very fond of his "prise de tabac." He 
takes this from a most capacious tabatiere,, which, 
doubtless has been his companion for many a long 
year. He used generally to visit Bombyx, either 
about Easter, or at the fall of the autumn, and 
singularly rare indeed were the insects he would 
at such seasons leave behind him ! 

By the way, it is worthy of note, that when 
this wonderful man first left his native city, in a 
sad state of health, he cared little about a butter- 
fly ; and probably the first time he saw one, he 
rather avoided chasing it than otherwise, until, 
in time, his attention was arrested, his curiosity 
excited, and his thirst for more perfect entomo- 
logical knowledge became absolutely insatiable. 
Even now, when he is an old man, he works at 
his favorite pursuit (which at times is very 
fatiguing) with all that zeal which so peculiarly 
distinguishes him, and long may he live to enjoy 
the proud distinction of being the greatest living 
entomologist ! 

Adieu, my own very dear friend. Au revoir. 

Tottenham, Aug. 18. Fino. 

P.S. — I see that you advise me not to go to 



Chobham. I certainly have no fancy to be hunted 
through the camp with an old kettle attached to 
my tail ; so I think I shall stop at home, and catch 
butterflies. I hope you will soon come and have 
a day's sport with me in Epping Forest. Perhaps 
we shall meet some of those charming pic-nic 
parties, about which you sang so sweetly and 
provokingly in your last. Oh, my dear friend, 
you are "a cheerful card." I long to take 
" another glass" of ale with you [Hush !]. 

[Well spoken, Fino ! Look out — we shall be 
with you anon, and your good nose shall soon 
point to the spot where the revellers lie concealed 
in the forest, amidst their well-selected delicacies. 
Rely upon it we, and all belonging to our " united 
happy families," shall be welcome guests there. 
We will sing them a song, and you shall tell them 
a racy anecdote. Old Bombyx and the smaller 
b's will, of course, accompany us.] 



While others fish with craft for great opinion, 
I with great Truth catch mere simplicity. 
While some with cunning gild their copper crowns, 
With Truth and plainness I do wear mine bare. 


Like Charles Dickens, of immortal 
memory, I will, my dear Mr. Editor, begin 
with the most important circumstance first. 

I was born in a cellar, in a small street 
in Seven Dials. My owner kept a species 
of composition live-stock shop ; and sold 
dogs and ducks, cats and canaries, rabbits 
and rats, ferrets and fowls, gold-fish and 
gold-pheasants, white -mice and monkeys. 
And, in the midst of these barking, quack- 
ing 7 mewing, singing, stamping, squealing, 
cackling, swimming, beautiful, stinking, and 
nasty things, I and my brother and sister, 
on the twelfth day after this event, opened 
our astonished eyes. 

My mother and father were of the royal 
race — King Charlie spaniels ; and had once 
both been the especial favorites of a noble 

lady who lived in Square, where they 

associated in the drawing-room with the 

* With the MS. of this article came a note 
from Mr. W. Kent, the celebrated Canine Sur- 
geon, of 53, Great Marylebone Street, to the 
following effect:— "To the Editor of 'Kidd's 
Journal.' Dear Sir, — Rejoicing, as I do, in the 
perusal of that most interesting ' Auto-biography 
of a Dog ' now publishing in your delightful 
Book of Nature ; I write to ask the insertion of 
another Life of another Dog — one of those nume- 
rous ' patients ' of mine, from whom I derive so 
much curious information from time to time, and 
to whom I read Fino's Life. Few know more of 
the habits and treatment of the Dog than myself. 
That I love the race, I freely admit. They deserve 
my love. This tale, I should tell you, is taken 
down for you verbatim from the mouth of 
1 Charlie,' one of my patients. I give it 
ipsissimis verbis. — W. H. Kent." 

highest in the land, or gambolled on the 
beautiful grass in front of the house with 
embryo peers of the realm. But "to what 
base purposes may we come?" Your 
Queen (God bless her !) went to Scotland ; 
and from thence brought a terrier as a play- 
thing for the royal children. This con- 
demned many of our race. The fashion was 
changed. The Queen's Scotch terrier was 
all the rage ; and my parent's mistress, being 
the leader of the ton, they were exchanged 
for one of these "children of the North;" 
and from the boudoir of a nobleman's man- 
sion, they were condemned to a cellar in 
Seven Dials. 

For about a month after my eyes were 
open, life seemed a pleasure to me. I rolled 
over my brother and sister ; fed, slept, and 
waked — to feed and roll again, or pull my 
dear mother's beautiful long silken ears. 
I knew no care, no pain, save when my 
mother trod upon me, as she sometimes did, 
in her hurry to escape from the whip of our 
owner. Not that he whipped her for 
nothing, or out of mere cruelty ; but simply 
because he was unable to appreciate the 
warmth of her heart, and her longing desire 
once more to see that mistress for whom 
alone she " loved to live, nor feared to die." 

In this endeavor, at the sound of gentle 
voices that we often heard inquiring of Mr. 
Fancier, — if " he had any terriers like the 
Queen's to sell," she would sometimes fancy 
that she recognised some " sweet and well- 
remembered sound ;" and running to the door, 
would whine so mournfully, that even the 
fashionable fanciers would occasionally say, 
"Poor dog! what is the matter with it ? " 
The answer was — " It's only a spaniel, that 
fancies every one that comes here is its 
missus." Her owner would then, whip in 
hand, chase her to our kennel. 

After the fifth week, we were taken from 
pur mother, and placed in a sort of rabbit- 
hutch, with iron rails in front, in the shop. 
And here I saw scenes that I shall never 
forget ; cruelty, such as those who paid for 
it's perpetration could not stand and look 
upon. Gentlemen, whose bearing bespoke 
them "noble," and whose every action in 
public and private life was doubtless stamped 
with honor ; and ladies, whose acts of kind- 
ness and charity have been sounded from one 
end of England to the other — would bring 
their favorites to have their appearance " im- 
proved" according to " fashion," by mutila- 
ting different parts of their bodies. 

The Captain's bull-terrier must have his 
ears cut close, to prevent their being bitten 
by any other dog he may be ordered to 
worry. My lady's Scotch terrier must have 
his ears cut so as to point over the head, 
according to "the fashion;" and the 
Countess's pugs must have their ears wrung 



completely out of their heads, or they would 
not "look like" pugs; and her dear little 
English toy-terrier, '.' whose fate — in bond- 
age thrown for weak loveliness — is like her 
own," must be cropped to make him " look 

You, my dear Sir, in the plenitude of your 
patronage, are pleased to call the Dog " the 
friend of man ; " but does man make a friend 
of a creature without affection, and dead to 
pain ? No ! This wanton cruelty is, let 
us hope, a disease of the head, not of the 
heart ; the one says " we must be in the 
fashion," and the other candidly acknow- 
ledges it cannot witness the scene. Of this I 
am sure, that if ladies and gentlemen would 
stand by and see this barbarous operation 
performed, or hear the piteous and heart- 
rending cries of their little favorites, during 
its performance, those who have dogs already 
" cropped " would feel pity for the agonies 
they had endured, and in future refuse thus 
to allow cruelty to minister to fancy. 

Nature, my dear Mr. Editor, made us dogs 
perfect. Why should we not remain so ? 
Nature made our mistresses perfect ; and 
(between ourselves) why should they not 
remain so ? However, that is their affair. If 
they think they can " improve " upon nature, 
be it so. They certainly do undergo severe 
torture in the trial. But with them, the 
sacrifice is voluntary; with us poor dogs, 
it is compulsory. Adieu ! Au revoir. I shall 
have lots more to tell you about myself and 
my race. 

Yours ever affectionately, 

August 16. Charlie. 


A vert general opinion prevails, " that when 
water is boiling in a vessel the bottom is cool ; 
but the moment it ceases to boil, the bottom be : 
comes hotter." 

The whole of the paradox appears to be founded 
on an error of sense. When a person applies his 
finger to the vessel, though he applies it for a con- 
siderable time, it is not heated more than he can 
endure ; for the blood in the course of its circula- 
tion loses some of its heat before it arrives at the 

And till the blood in the extremities is heated 
to the same degree with that of the heart, we feel 
no pain from burning ; but as soon as this is 
effected, the least degree of heat becomes painful. 

When the finger is first applied to the bottom 
of the vessel, after it is taken off the fire, the 
heat is endured for these reasons. When the 
boiling ceases, it is natural to take the same finger 
(for, having dirtied one, people seldom choose to 
take another) ; and that finger being already 
heated almost as much as it could bear, n:>w finds 
the heat at the bottom of the vessel exquisitely 


The Grand Summer Exhibition having 
been held on the 26th and 27th of July (just 
as we were going to press), we were unable 
to take any notice of it in our last. Nor 
need we now offer more than a passing 
remark on what we saw. 

The Collection was a somewhat extensive 
one ; but the season chosen for their display 
was truly unfortunate. Most of the old birds 
were in moult, and exhibited a very ragged 
appearance. The chickens, however, which 
were numerous, were, for the most part, 
strong and hearty. 

No fewer than 913 pens of poultry were 
submitted by the various well-known con- 
tributors to the public eye. Of these, there 
were all the usual kinds, including many of 
the Cochin China breed. We were glad to 
observe that the latter had lost one half, if 
not more, of their attraction. The season 
too very fortunately prevented their in- 
dulging so much as usual in the hideous, 
deafening noises, for which they are so cele- 
brated. They were comparatively silent. 
The Cochin China mania, we are glad to say, 
has very nearly subsided. People have 
indeed paid dearly for that whistle ! 

There were some very fine specimens of 
Spanish fowls, and some very fine old golden 
spangled Hamburghs. Some of the Polands, 
too, were good ; as were certain of the game 
fowls. We observed also a few, and but a 
few, fine bantams. 

As for the Dorkings, our old favorites, we 
gazed on them with real delight. These noble 
animals carried the palm among all good 
judges. It pleased us not a little, to listen 
to the remarks of certain practical men as 
to their decided superiority (in every respect) 
over the Cochins. 

Then there were dumpies, frizzled, and 
silk fowls ; pigeons, turkeys, ducks, geese, &c. 
— all very fair specimens of their kind. We 
would particularly dwell upon the arrange- 
ment of the rooms. This was under the able 
superintendence of Mr. J. H. Catlin, the 
secretary, who had carefully and successfully 
studied the comfort of the visitors, as well as 
the convenience of the animals exhibited. 
The attendance was not so large as could 
have been wished ; but the " Cab strike "no 
doubt had something to do with this. 

We observed in the further rooms, a 
variety of very useful articles connected with 
the keeping and rearing of poultry — the in- 
ventions and manufacture of Mr. Joseph 
Hardmeat, of King's Lynn, Norfolk. Our 
readers will remember that we called par- 
ticular attention to some of these, in our 
January number ; but they have since been 
largely added to. 

We congratulate Mr. Hardmeat on the 



good sense he has shown in getting up these 
essentials for the poultry-yard at a remark- 
ably cheap rate. We saw fountains as low 
as 2s. 6d. ; and every other article appeared 
to be assessed at an equally moderate rate. 
This will ensure them a ready sale. 

Among Mr. Hardmeat's recent inventions, 
we would direct special attention to his 


This, being adapted for every variety of fowl, 
may be pronounced an indispensable adjunct 
to all poultry-yards. It is adapted to hold 
hoth. food and water; which are supplied,/row 
one vessel, at an equal ratio with the con- 
sumption. The " Restaurant" is fitted with 
sliding regulators, which adapt it to any des- 
cription of food, from corn to potatoes ; and 
the supply may be shut off when desired. 

A list of the different articles invented and 
manufactured by Mr. Hardmeat, will be 
found in our advertising columns. His 
London depot is — the Bazaar, Baker Street. 

Many other poultry shows have been held 
in various parts of the country ; and we con- 
sider them likely to lead to beneficial results, 
inasmuch as they encourage competition. 
Besides, if they work no other good, they 
encourage a fondness for animals amongst 
our womankind, which cannot fail to add 
considerably to their naturally -kind dispo- 

A love for animals cannot be too highly 
commended. Its effects few persons can be 
ignorant of. We again caution our friends 
against purchasing choice eggs for sitting, 
from any but people of known respectability. 
They are offered " cheap " by adventurers ; 
but ere they arrive they have been scalded, 
and the embryon has been destroyed. This 
trick is now almost universally practised. 



We are now unmistakeably reminded, 
that we are on the verge of Autumn. Our 
early Summer was a short one; but short 
as it was, we have enjoyed it. Nature loves 
to give us " compensation," and it is our 
own fault if we do not improve the many 
opportunities she gives us of being " happy." 
Let but the desire show itself, and the way 
is plain. Our Autumns are indeed truly 
glorious ! 

Our general remarks upon this month may 
be brief. 

The shortening days, cold nights, and 
decreasing gaiety of the flower-borders, 
must not relax our endeavors to preserve 
cleanliness and neatness ; but rather tend to 
increase perseverance, in keeping the plants 
that remain in perfection, and all parts of 
the garden in still better order. This will 

be found the best means of extending the 
gratifications to be derived from the garden ; 
a clean, neat garden being at all times a 
pleasing object even in the depth of Winter. 
There is, however, much to be done this 
month. Flower-seeds of various kinds must 
be collected and dried, keeping each in a 
separate paper, with its name, height, and 
color, or any other observations marked 
upon it. Any choice or half-hardy plants 
which have been growing in the open border 
during the summer, should now be potted 
for the window, or be placed under protec- 
tion. In the absence of better means of 
keeping scarlet or other Pelargoniums, they 
may be lifted with the soil adhering to their 
roots and hung up in a cellar. Beds for 
choice bulbs should now be prepared ; they 
should be broken up eighteen inches deep, 
but no manure added so near their sur- 
face as to come in contact with the bulbs. 
We give more minute particulars, in alpha- 
betical arrangement, below. 


During the dry weather, any kinds of apples 
or pears which may be ripe, should he gathered. 
To ascertain if they are ready for gathering, raise 
them gently. If they part readily from the tree, 
or if on cutting one through the middle the seeds 
are become brown, they may he taken. Early 
fruit had better he gathered a little before they 
are quite ripe. You may still continue to plant 
out strawberry runners ; keeping them well 
watered. You should also have your vines care- 
fully examined in accordance with the directions 
we gave for August. 


All who love their flower-garden, — and 
who that is possessed of one does not love 
it ? — should now devote their unceasing 
energies to its good-looks. Early and late 
there is something requisite to be done, — 
something to remove, something to add. 
Gardening is a most delectable occupation. 

Antirrhinums. — Succession plants will he in 
flower by judicious management, but large 
supplies are scarcely needed. 

Auriculas. — As these progress, continue and he 
prompt in the necessary routine of water, air, 
and cleanliness ; if, from watering and stirring, 
the soil should be wasted, add a little on the 
surface, to make the fibres secure and well 
covered : look to the frames awaiting them, re- 
place labels if decayed. 

Biennials. — Finish planting; sow. 

Bulbs. — These may now be potted ; plunging into 
dry sand, or ashes, or soil, to the depth of six 
inches. Scillas, Snowdrops, Crocuses, Ane- 
mones, Ranunculuses, &c, may be planted in 
borders two or three inches deep ; Hyacinths, 
Jonquils, &c, four to six inches, in numbers 
varying from three to twelve or twenty in each 

Calceolarias. — Keep growing, and remove all 
decaying foliage. 



Camellias should now be again housed ; clean, 
surface stir, and top dress. 

Carnations. — Get all the stock potted by the end 
of the month, place in frames close to the glass, 
shade from strong sun. 

Chrysanthemums. — As the flower-buds appear, 
take off all excej)t the centre bud, leaving not 
more than two bloom-buds on the plants where 
specimen blooms are required ; train the shoots 
on the specimen plants, when the bloom-buds 
are set, water with liquid manure, increasing 
the slrength of the liquid from time to time. 

Cinerarias. — Continue as recommended last 
month, and do not let the plants at any time 
become pot-bound, fumigate periodically to pre- 
vent green-fly, and dust the under part of the 
foliage on any appearance of mildew. 

Clumps, need attention, decaying stems cut down, 
tall plants make secure. 

Composts, collect and have in readiness for 

Crocks will be needed in large quantities as pot- 
ting proceeds. 

Cuttings in store pots see to : take, and put in. 

Dahlias are in their glory this month : look to 
seedlings, save none but of real merit. A few 
flowers may be marked and the seed allowed to 
ripen, select only first-rate properties from which 
to take the chance of improvement. 

Epacrises are still better out of doors than in, if 
the weather be genial : flowering sorts should, 
however, be under glass if showing color. 

Ericas. — Get into their winter quarters and make 
all clean. 

Frames will now be in full use ; a good layer of 
ashes inside, on which to stand the pots, is 

Fuchsias, let remain dormant ; if early flowering 
specimens be wanted, get some into heat to 
start them. 

Greenhouses may now be considered as fully en- 
gaged ; give air in abundance, or premature 
growths, with weakly wood, will be produced. 

Hollyhocks. — Look to the ripening seed, cut down 
spent flower-stalks, protect the plants in hard 
weather if intended to remain ; young plants 
annually do best. 

Hyacinths. — Purchase, pot and plant in borders. 

Lawns require attention at this time. 

Liliums. — Discontinue the manure water as the 
flowers open ; when in flower look that all are 
correct to name. Discontinue water as they 
go out of bloom. 

Lime-ioater may be given to all pots as before 

Pansies. — Prepare beds for planting ; keep young 
stock clean ; sow seed ; discard all worthless 
flowering seedlings. 

Paths. — Give a good rolling to, so to make even 
and firm ere winter sets in. 

Pelargoniums. — General attention is now required : 
if any plants are standing about out of doors, 
they should be either put into a greenhouse or 
frame. We prefer the house ; if the plants are left 
out they become soddened with wet, which will 
most likely bring on the spot, and cause the 
plants to look unhealthy through the winter ; 
the plants at this time require but little water 
to keep them in good health — always keep clean 
from green-fly. It will be well this month to 

get the different soils into a shed, protected 
from heavy rains, ready for the final shift for the 
year ; the soil must not be wet when used, but 
moderately dry. The young plants that have 
been struck this season, and not stopped back, 
should be done so now in order to make nice 
bushy plants. 

Piccotees. — After potting a few days, close glassing 
is necessary to start the fibres into the new soil ; 
protect from excessive rains. 

Pinks should all be planted ; a few pairs of par- 
ticular or delicate sorts may be potted to fill 
gaps in the beds, at early spring. 

Plants generally, going to rest, need less water. 

Polyanthuses, may yet be parted ; destroy slugs, 

and keep the surface of beds well stirred on dry 

Pots. — Obtain a sufficient supply ; clean those 

emptied for the season, as also all, before they 

are taken into houses or frames. 
Primulas, pot on as they fill the pots with roots ; 

keep clean and remove decaying leaves. 

Banunculuses. — See to the preparation of beds 
for, sow seed. 

Roses. — Cut seed pods out of all plants done 
flowering ; fork plantations of; secure to stakes ; 
add old manure. 

Scillas. — Plant. 

Seed. — Sow of hardy subjects. 

Seedlings. — Plant out such as Pinks, Pansies, &c. 

Snow-drops and similar bulbs, plant. 

Soils, collect, stack, protect, turn. 

Sow such seeds as will stand out the winter. 

Tulips, let each bulb be placed in the boxes as it 
is intended to bloom in the bed next season, 
and then transcribe the name in your tulip-book 
for the coming season ; the advantage arising 
from this method is, that the bulbs are in order 
for planting at the right time ; until which shall 
arrive, an occasional look through is all that is 
needed, in order to ascertain that all is right. 
Should green-fly be anywhere visible, let the 
same be immediately removed. Now is the 
proper time to vigorously set about the prepa- 
ration of beds and soils, for the reception of the 
bulbs at planting time. Get in your off-sets ; 
also early sorts in pots. 

Verbenas. — Put off into thumb pots, or small 
60's, plants struck last month ; where room 
be an object, the first week in this month 
take cuttings, placing them round a forty- 
eight pot in a light, rich compost, quarter 
sand, keeping the pots close to the glass in 
either a frame or greenhouse; when struck, 
thin out the plants to about eight, to prevent 
their being too crowded. Collect seed. 

Violets. — Plant and pot ; old plants will be giving 

Weeds. — Get rid of in paths, beds, or pots. 


That is the true season of love, when we be- 
lieve that we alone can love ; that no one could 
ever have loved so before us; and that no one will 
love in the same way after us. — Goethe. 




I never heard 
Of any true affection, but 'twas nipt 
With care, that, like the caterpillar, eats 
The leaves of Spring's sweetest book— the rose. 




those who have outlived the 
susceptibility of the early 
feeling, or have been brought 
up in the gay heartlessness of 
dissipated life, to laugh at all 
love stories, and to treat the tales of romantic 
passion as mere fictions of novelists and 
poets, yet my observations of human nature 
have induced me to think otherwise. They 
have convinced me that, however the surface 
of the character may be chilled and frozen 
by the cares of the world, or cultivated by 
mere smiles by the arts of society, still there 
are dormant fires lurking in the depths of 
the coldest bosom, which, when once 
enkindled, become impetuous, and are some- 
times desolating in their effect. Indeed, I 
am a true believer in the blind deity, and 
go to the full extent of his doctrines. Shall 
I confess it ? I believe in broken hearts, 
and the possibility of dying of disappointed 
love ! I do not however consider it a 
malady often fatal to my own sex, but I 
firmly believe that it withers down many a 
lovely woman into an early grave. 

Man is the creature of interest and ambi- 
tion. His nature leads him forth into the 
bustle and struggle of the world. Love is 
but the embellishment of his early life, or a 
song piped in the intervals of the acts. He 
seeks for fame, for fortune, for space in the 
world's thought, and dominion over his fel- 
low men. But a woman's whole life is a 
history of the affections. The heart is her 
world ; it is there her ambition strives for 
empire — it is there her avarice seeks for 
hidden treasures. She sends forth her sym- 
pathies on adventure — she embarks her 
whole soul in the traffic of affection ; and if 
shipwrecked, her case is hopeless, for it is 
the bankruptcy of the heart. 

To a man, the disappointment of love may 
cause some bitter pangs ; it wounds some 
feeling of tenderness — it blasts some pros- 
pects of felicity. But he is an active being ; 
he may dissipate his thoughts in the whirl 
of varied occupations, or may plunge into 
the tide of pleasure. Or, if the scene of 
disappointment be too full of painful asso- 
ciations, he can shift his abode at will ; and 
taking, as it were, the wings of the morning, 
can "fly to the uttermost parts of the earth, 
and be at rest." 

But woman's is comparatively a fixed, a 
secluded, and a meditative life. She is more 
the companion of her own thoughts and 

~Vol. IV.— 8. 

feelings ; and if they are turned to ministers 
of sorrow, where shall she look for conso- 
lation ? Her lot is to be wooed and won ; 
and, if unhappy in her love, her heart is 
like some fortress that has been captured and 
sacked, and abandoned and left desolate. 

How many bright eyes grow dim ! how 
many soft cheeks grow pale ! how many 
lovely forms fade away into the tomb, and 
none can tell the cause that blighted their 
loveliness ! As the dove will clasp its wings 
to its side, and cover and conceal the arrow 
that is preying on its vitals — so it is the 
nature of woman to hide from the world the 
pang of wounded affection. The love of a 
delicate female is always shy <md silent. 
Even when fortunate, she scarcely breathes 
it to herself; but when otherwise, she buries 
it in the recesses of her heart, and there 
lets it cower and brood among the ruins of 
her peace. With her the desire of her heart 
has failed — the great charm of existence is 
at an end. She neglects all the cheerful 
exercises which gladdened the spirits, and 
quickened the pulses, and sent the tide of 
life in healthful currents through the veins. 
Her rest is broken ; the sweet refreshment 
of sleep is poisoned by melancholy dreams. 
" Dry sorrow drinks her blood," until her 
enfeebled frame sinks under the slightest 
external injury. Look for her a little while, 
and you find friendship weeping over 
her untimely grave, and wondering that one 
who but lately glowed with all the radiance 
of both health and beauty should so speedily 
be brought down to darkness and the worm, 
You w r ill be told of some wintry chill, some 
casual indisposition that laid her low. But 
no one knows the mental malady which pre- 
viously sapped her strength, and made her 
so easy a prey to the spoiler. 

She is like some tender tree, the beauty 
and pride of the grove, graceful in its form, 
bright in its foliage, but with the worm prey- 
ing at its heart. We find it suddenly 
withering when it should be most fresh and 
luxuriant. We see it drooping its branches 
to the earth, leaf by leaf, until, wasted and 
perished away, it falls as in the stillness of 
the forest ; and as we muse over the beau- 
tiful ruin, we strive in vain to recollect the 
blast of the thunderbolt that could have 
smitten it with decay. 

I have seen many instances of women 
running to waste and self-neglect, and disap- 
pearing gradually from the earth, almost as 
if they had been inhaled to Heaven ; and have 
repeatedly fancied that I could trace their 
deaths through the various declensions of 
colds, consumptions, debility, languor, me- 
lancholy — until I reached the first symptoms 
of disappointed love. But an instance of 
the kind was lately told me. The circum- 
stances are well known in the country where 



they happened, and I shall but give them 
in the manner in which they were related. 

Every one must recollect the tragical 

story of E , the Irish patriot. It was 

too touching to be easily forgotten. During 
the troubles in Ireland, he was tried, con- 
demned, and executed, on a charge of 
treason. His fate made a deep impression 
on public sympathy — he was so young, so 
intelligent, so generous, so brave, so every- 
thing that we are apt to like in a young 
man. His conduct under trial, too, was so 
lofty and intrepid. The noble indignation 
with which he repelled the charge of treason 
against his country, the eloquent vindication 
of his name, and his pathetic appeal to pos- 
terity, in the hopeless hour of condemna- 
tion — all these entered deeply into every 
generous bosom ; and even his enemies 
lamented the stern policy that dictated his 

But there was one heart whose anguish 
it would be impossible to describe. In 
happy days and fairer fortunes, he had won 
the affections of a beautiful and interesting 
girl, the daughter of a celebrated Irish bar- 
rister. She loved him with the disinterested 
fervor of a woman's first and early love. 
When every worldly maxim arrayed itself 
against him, when blasted in fortune, and 
disgrace and danger darkened around his 
name, she loved him the more ardently for 
his sufferings. If, then, his fate could 
awaken even the sympathy of his foes, what 
must have been the agony of her whose 
whole soul Avas occupied by his image? Let 
those tell who have had the portals of the 
tomb suddenly closed between them and the 
being whom they most loved on earth — who 
have sat at its threshold as one shut out 
in a cold and lonely world, from whence all 
that was most lovely and loving have disap- 

But then the horrors of such a grave — so 
frightful — so dishonored ! There was no- 
thing for memory to dwell upon that could 
soothe the pang of separation ; none of those 
gender, though melancholy circumstances, 
which endear the scene ; nothing to melt 
orr w into those blessed tears, sent like the 

* Our readers may smile at the idea of our 
inserting a tale bearing the title of a " Broken 
Heart," — a thing, now-a-days, rather talked about 
than realised. However, when the amiableWash- 
ington Irving wrote this lovely episode, " Fashion" 
had not put on her brazen front. Woman's heart 
had a soft place in it. It could feel; and was 
not ashamed to own that it felt. We therefore 
speak of " things as they were;" and pant for a 
return to the " good old times." Hearts are not 
"trumps" now. We speak of the rule, not the 
exceptions. Besides, it must be borne in mind 
that the heroine of the present tale was not an 
English maiden. — Ed. K. J. 

dew of heaven to revive the heart in the 
anguish of the parting hour. 

To render her situation more desolate, 
she had incurred her father's displeasure 
by her unfortunate attachment, and was 
an exile from her paternal roof. But could 
the sympathy and kindly offices of friends 
have reached a spirit so shocked and driven 
in by horror, she would have experienced 
no want of consolation, for the Irish are a 
people of quick and generous sensibilities. 

The most delicate and cherished attentions 
were paid her by families of wealth and 
distinction. She was led into society, and 
they tried, by all kinds of occupation and 
amusement, to dissipate her grief, and win 
her from the tragical story of her love. But 
all in vain. There are some strokes of 
calamity which scathe and tear the soul — 
which penetrate the vital seat of happiness, 
and blast it, never again to put forth bud 
or blossom. She never objected to frequent 
the haunts of pleasure, but she was as much 
alone there as in the depth of solitude. 
Walking about in a sad reverie, apparently 
unconscious of the world around her, she 
carried within her an inward woe that mocked 
all the blandishments of friendship, and 
" heeded not the charmer, charmed he never 
so wisely." 

The person who told me her story had 
seen her at a masquerade. There can be 
no exhibition of far-gone wretchedness more 
striking and painful than to meet it in such 
a scene — to find it wandering like a spectre, 
lovely and joyless, where all around is gay — 
to see it dressed out in the trappings of 
mirth, and looking so wan and woe-begone, 
as if it had tried in vain to cheat the poor 
heart into a momentary forgetfulness of 
sorrow. After strolling through the splendid 
rooms and giddy crowd with an air of utter 
abstraction, she sat herself down on the 
steps of the orchestra; and looking about 
for some time with a vacant air, that showed 
her insensibility to the garish scene, she 
began, with the capriciousness of a sickly 
heart, to warble a plaintive air. She had 
an exquisite voice ; but on this occasion it 
was so simple, so touching — it breathed 
forth such a soul of wretchedness, that she 
drew a crowd, mute and silent, around her, 
and melted every one into tears. 

The story of one so true and tender could 
not but excite, in a country remarkable for 
enthusiasm, interest. It completely won 
the heart of a brave officer, who paid his 
addresses to her, and thought that she, so 
true to the dead, could not but prove affec- 
tionate to the living. She declined his at- 
tention, for her thoughts were irrevocably 
engrossed with the memory of her former 
lover. He however persisted in his suit. 
He solicited not her tenderness, but her 



esteem. He was assisted by her convictions 
of his worth, and a sense of her own desti- 
tution and dependent situation ; for she was 
existing on the kindness of friends. In a 
word, he at length succeeded in gaining her 
hand, though with the solemn assurance that 
her heart was unalterably another's. 

He took her with him to Sicily, hoping 
a change of scene might wear out a memory 
of early woe. She was an animated and 
exemplary wife, and made an effort to be a 
happy one. But nothing could cure the 
silent and devouring melancholy that had 
entered into her very soul. She wasted 
away in a slow but hopeless decline, and 
at length sunk into the grave — the victim 
of a broken heart. 

It was on her that Tom Moore composed 
the following lines : — 

She is far from the land where her young hero 

And lovers around her are sighing ; 
But coldly she turns from their gaze and weeps, 

For her heart in his grave is lying. 

She sings the wild songs of her dear native plains, 
Every note which he loved awaking — 

Ah ! little they think who delight in her strains, 
How the heart of the minstrel is breaking ! 

He had lived for his love, for his country he died ; 

They were all that to life had entwined him ; 
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, 

Nor long will his love stay behind him. 

Oh, make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, 
When they promise a glorious morrow ; 

They'll shine o'er her sleep like a smile from the 
From her own loved island of sorrow ! 


It has been saide that the cat, although a fond creture, 
will scratch you, if provoked, or if teazed. Now, a 
woman will do the same thing; yet cannot we help 
loving her ! Let bothe be used kindly then, and their 
claws will not be employed againste us. Love begetteth 
love.— From " An Essaie on the Householde Cat," 1714. 

There are registered in the columns 
of our Journal (more particularly in the 
first volume), many remarkable anecdotal 
facts connected with the Cat ; and there can 
be no doubt whatever that, amidst many 
doubtful qualities, she does possess many 
that may be pronounced amiable. 

It always gives us pleasure to record any 
and everything that is interesting in animals ; 
we therefore make way to day for a few 
remarks (abridged from a charming paper on 
" Cats," signed A. B. K.) which appeared in 
a recent number of our excellent contem- 
porary, the " Illustrated London News." Is 
the writer a lady? The genial tone of the 
subject-matter would indicate as much : — 

That cats love localities better than persons, is 
an axiom in which I feel assured that there is not 

half so much truth as is generally believed. In 
many of the cases which are commonly quoted in 
proof, the cat has returned to her former locality 
because she can make an easier living there than 
on unknown grounds. I remember a gentleman 
abusing a cat for attachment to stone and lime 
rather than to flesh and blood, because, on his 
changing his residence, puss had practically ro- 
fused to change hers with him, and had gone back 
to haunt the purlieus of a neighboring granary. I 
inquired — whether the family had regularly fed 
her? "Oh, dear no!" was the reply; " she 
could feed herself very well, and did so on the 
rats and mice and small birds about the barn." 
"Then, of course," I rejoined, " the cat has more 
reason to love the barn than you. It gave her 
food : she found none here. She might not be 
aware that you intended to supply her, and 
animal instinct prompted her — as, if a dog lived 
on what he could pick up, it would also prompt 
him to return to the spot where his wants had 
been supplied." 

The plain truth of the matter is, that well- 
treated and regularly-fed cats have no particular 
attachment to a place. On the contrary, they 
attach themselves to the persons kind to them, 
and who often notice them ; so that the cry of 
want of personal attachment on the part of the 
feline tribe, is very frequently mere slander of 
ladies and gentlemen who have neglected, perhaps 
ill-treated, the creatures — and yet expect them 
to be as fond as lovers. 

How true is this picture of a cat's life ! 
Almost all cats are starved. We have said 
so, over and over again. A single half- 
penny-worth of meat (and that bought 
grudgingly) transfixed by a wooden skewer, 
is very frequently the entire quantity of food 
given (cold water excepted !) to supply the 
wants of two cats. Hence is it that cats go 
so often "visiting" to a neighbor's house, 
taking away with them all they can find in 
the way of "grub." We do not blame the 
cat, — surely not ; but her inhuman mistress. 
Still the poor cat suffers. 

The barbarities practised on our domestic 
cats are fearfully great. Most dogs too, are 
kept equally short — more than half-starved. 
We speak feelingly on this point. The 
howling of a neighbor's dog tells us a piteous 
tale of animal suffering. His agonies must 
indeed be extreme. But then he is " only a 
dog ! " How the heart sickens at such 
heathenish brutality ! 

We can readily believe that cats, well fed 
and kindly used, do form strong attach- 
ments — 

Cats are fond of those who are fond of them ; 
and they are as sharp as needles in finding out 
their real friends, and in shrinking from people 
" who don't like cats." One of my pussies knows 
my knock at the door, especially at night, and her 
mew follows closely on the sound : while gene- 
rally, a couple of other creatures of the same species 
. are waiting with her in the lobby, and the whole 
three accompany me up-stairs in procession. If 
they happen to be out of doors at night, a single 



call will generally bring them scampering home ; 
and if their names prove inefficient, one enuncia- 
tion of " Cat's-meat ! " acts like a spell. 

It is curious to contrast the mild, and, if I may 
use the expression, the affable faces of cats which 
are noticed — perhaps playfully talked to — with 
the fierce and moody countenances of those 
neglected creatures which, in London and else- 
where, grow half or wholly wild, among gardens, 
yards, and outhouses, picking up their living as 
they can. The two classes seem to belong to 
different species. The well-kept and well-treated 
house-cat seems rather civilised than tamed ; the 
neglected and too often persecuted brute outside 
the window has relapsed into a skulking savage. 
You never see the two consort together, and the 
natural playfulness of the species seems in the 
outcast to have almost entirely vanished. Now, 
is all this poor, ragged, beaten, pelted, and un- 
sheltered pussy's fault ? Far from it. It is too 
often the fault of her accusers. They do not give 
her sufficient food. She steals it, gets beaten and 
driven out ; and perhaps in a month or two acquires 
that horribly stealthy crawl, and that misgiving, 
hungry eye — both of which are quite unnatural, 
and speak a creature under the influence of 
constant want, and the fear of tyrant man. 

Well said, this. It nicely illustrates all 
we have ever advanced. Starve children, 
and see if they will not steal to satisfy the 
appetite. Beat them, and watch the effects 
of that beating. Should we expect more 
from a cat than we would from a child? 

Here follows a nice distinction between 
the parlor cat and the kitchen cat. It is 
sketched by a masterly hand : — 

A not uncommon phrase in households is that 
of a " parlor cat " and a " kitchen cat ; " and 1 
believe it to be an undoubted fact that there are 
differences in the character of the creatures, which 
somehow prompt the one to seek the cheerful light 
and talk of a sitting-room, and the other rather to 
brood and nestle in the gloomier and the warmer 
regions below. The one is always seen conspi- 
cuous on the rug, or stretched upon the footstool ; 
the other makes casual appearances upon the 
stairs, and flies like a spectre at the approach of 
anybody but the cook. The one creature seems 
to have a sort of aristocracy in its nature, and it 
is all but uniformly the handsomest cat of the 
twain ; the other is, most probably, a vulgar, squat 
plebeian, with its original shyness still strongly 
present in it. 

Of my three cats, two I reckon as parlor cats, 
par sang ; and the third has been, by kind usage 
and encouragement, coaxed into a degree of the 
same familiarity. Still, however, the natural 
timidity seems unconquerable. If you make a 
rapid motion towards the creature, she bounds 
away like a wild thing. Her two comrades, on 
the contrary, are frightened at nothing. The 
room, the occupants, the whole locale, seem their 
own special sphere and natural dwelling-place ; 
and the only period of the day when the three ap- 
pear to be merged into a common character, is as 
the hour for the visit of the " cat's-meat-man" ap- 
proaches ; when they are sure to be in waiting at 
the door, and to set up their sweet voices as soon 
as they hear that of the vendor of the food. 

It is to be remarked, that they take not the 
slightest notice of the daily cry of a rival prac- 
titioner who perambulates the street at nearly the 
same time ; and that on Sundays, when no pran- 
dial visit takes place, they never appear to expect 
the week-day ceremony, but are perfectly aware 
of a double quantity of good things being stowed 
away in a certain cupboard, round which they 
cluster with arching backs and waving tails. 

I We conclude with a few very sensible 
remarks about juvenile and adult cats : — 
People not unfrequently cry out that kittens 
| are pretty, playful things, but that they lose the 
I gentillesse and piquant prettiness of their youth 
j when they degenerate into stupid cats ! . The 
complaint is unreasonable enough. The infantine 
Johnny Tomkins, who kicked, and crowed, and 
lisped funny imperfect words, and made big eyes 
at his mother, can hardly be expected to repeat 
1 the performance some half-century after, when he 
' is Tomkins & Co. — perhaps the mayor of the 
I town, and a churchwarden of the parish to boot. 
Why then should sedate ten-years-old puss, who 
i is getting rather stiff in the joints, and likes better 
j and better the summer's bask, and the winter's 
warm, be expected to tumble over a ball of cotton, 
or to lie on his back kicking at nothing at all, 
like his own son and heir, whom he gravely ob- 
serves at these amusements, and sometimes tips 
over with his paw ? Mr. Tomkins is not blamed for 
his matured dignity, why then should Mr. Puss ? 
But the fact is, that the playfulness of kitten- 
dom can be partially, particularly with healthy 
and good-tempered cats, kept up, by a little en- 
couragement, even when they have grown into 
'• potent, grave, and reverend seigneurs ; " and 
that grim old grimalkins, who have drunk their 
morning's milk for a dozen of years, can be in- 
duced to skip and roll and tumble in the most 
absurdly awkward mimicry of the small fry, which 
are still indebted for the lacteal fluid to their 

Just so. And is it not the same with us ? 
Why, we are as active now, and as playful 
as ever we were ; and as full of fun too — 
provided, always, we are in the company of 
those we love. 

Treat us well, good people ; and we, like 
the veteran cats, will " skip, and roll, and 
tumble" down any hill that the youngest of 
you dare to descend ! 

Try us when you will. 



It is the hour when Earth, our mother, claims 
Companionship and sisterhood with stars ; 
When, throwing off the trammelage of Day, 
She bounds into the infinite and sings 
With all the galaxies the ancient songs 
Of all the ages and of all the suns ; 
The hour when the Eternal One steps from 
His starry throne, and whispers in the ear 
Of Universal Nature, the great truths 
That have to shine upon the golden front 
Of the To-morrow, to win back man's soul 
Unto its purest self and to its God. 
Ah ! Night is holy, like her sister Death. 




The more we study the insect world, the 
more cause do we find for increased admiration. 
The smaller the thing created the greater reason 
is there for us to love the Creator for his goodness 
and wisdom. All who have given attention to the 
subject, must have felt amazed at the comparative 
strength of insects. Baron Haller tells us that in 
great muscular power they appear to excel in pro- 
portion to their diminutiveness. Of this we have a 
remarkable example iu the common flea, which can 
draw seventy or eighty times its own weight. The 
muscular ttrjngth of this agile creature, enables 
it not only to resist the ordinary pressure of the 
fingers in our endeavors to crush it, but to take 
leaps two hundred times its own length ; which 
will appear more surprising, when we consider 
that a man, to equal the agility of a flea, would 
have to leap between three and four hundred yards. 

The flea, however, is excelled in leaping by the 
cuckoo-spit, frog-hopper (Tetigonia sjmmaria, 
Oliver), which will sometimes leap two or three 
yards — that is, more than two hundred and fifty 
times its own length ; as if (to continue the com- 
parison) a man of ordinary height should vault 
through the air to the distance of a quarter of a 
mile. Mouffet, in his " Theatre of Insects," 
mentions that an English mechanic, named Mark, 
to show his skill, constructed a chain of gold as 
long as his finger, which, together with a lock and 
key, were dragged along by a flea ; which could 
draw a golden chariot, to which it was harnessed. 

Bingley tells us,thatMr.Boverich, a watchmaker 
in the Strand, exhibited, some years ago, a little 
ivory chaise with four wheels, and all its proper 
apparatus, and the figure of a man sitting on the 
box, all of which were drawn by a single flea. 
The same mechanic afterwards constructed a lan- 
dau, which opened and shut by springs, with the 
figures of six horses harnessed to it, and of a coach- 
man on the box, a dog between his legs, four per- 
sons inside, two footmen behind it, and a postillion 
riding one of the fore horses, which were all easily 
dragged along by a single flea. 

Goldsmith remarks upon these displays of puli- 
cian strength, that the feats of Sampson would 
not, to a community of fleas, appear to be at all 
miraculous. Latreille tells us a no less marvellous 
story of another flea, which dragged a silver can- 
non twenty-four times its own weight, mounted on 
wheels, and did not manifest any alarm when this 
was charged with gunpowder and fired off. Pro- 
fessor Bradley, of Cambridge, also mentions a 
remarkable instance of insect strength in a stag- 
beetle (Lucanus Cervus), which he saw carrying 
a waDd a foot and a half long, and half an inch 
thick, and even flying with it to the distance of 
several yards. 

We may understand the proximate cause of the 
strength of insects, when we look at the prodigious 
number of their muscles — the fleshy belts or 
ribands by whose means all animal motions are 
performed. The number of these instruments of 
motion in the human body, is reckoned to be about 
five hundred and twenty-nine ;. but in the cater- 
pillar of the goat moth, Lyonnet counted more 
than seven times as many ; in the head, two hun- 
dred and twenty-eight ; in the body, one thousand 
six hundred and forty-seven ; and around the 

intestines, two thousand one hundred and eighty- 
six ; which, after deducting twenty, common to 
the head and gullet, gives a total of four thousand 
and sixty-one. We put the caterpillar of the 
goat-moth, to which we have before alluded, under 
a bell-glass, which weighed nearly half a pound, 
and of course more than ten times the weight of 
the insect, yet it raised it up with the utmost 
ease. We then placed over the glass the largest 
book we had at hand — " Loudon's Encyclopaedia 
of Gardening," consisting of about one thousand 
five hundred pages of strong paper, and weighing 
four pounds ; but this did not succeed in prevent- 
ing the escape of the animal, which raised the 
glass, though loaded with the book, nearly a hun- 
dred times its own weight, and made good its 
exit. The multiplicity of its muscles, above enu- 
merated, two hundred and thirty-six of which are 
situated in the legs alone, will enable us to under- 
stand how this extraordinary feat was performed. 
Even this power of muscle, however, would doubt- 
less have been unavailing in raising the loaded 
glass, except in connexion with two favorable 
circumstances under which the experiment was 
performed, and which are necessary to be borne in 
mind to render the operation credible ; first that the 
wedge-like form of the caterpillar's head, in con- 
nexion with the peculiar shape of the glass, 
enabled it to lift it ; and second, that one side of 
the glass resting on the table, the insect only bore 
half the weight of the glass and book. 

A peculiar toughness of external covering, 
sometimes supplies the place of this muscular 
power in caterpillars. A singular instance occurs 
in the history of a common downy two-winged fly, 
with grey shoulders and a brown abdomen 
(Eristalis tenax, Fabr.) The grub, which is rat- 
tailed, lives in muddy pools, with the water of 
which it has sometimes been taken up by paper- 
makers, and, though subjected to the immense 
pressure of their machinery, it has survived it in 
a miraculous manner. Since this grub is rathei 
soft, it must be the tough texture of skin which 
preserves it, as in the similar instance of the 
caterpillar of the privet hawk-moth (Sphinx 
Ligtostri), which Bonnet squeezed under water till 
it was as flat and as empty as the finger of a 
glove, yet within an hour it became as plump and 
lively as if nothing had happened. 

A record of these curious facts will go far, let us 
hope, towards creating a love for the study of 
entomology. The world is full of wonders if we 
would but search them out ; and how pure is the 
pleasure afforded by such a search ! 


Women who are the least bashful are, oftentimes, 
the most modest ; and we are never more deceived 
than when we would infer an}' laxity of principle 
from that freedom of demeanor which often arises 
from a total ignorance of vice. 

Pbudeey on the contrary, is often assumed 
rather to keep off the suspicion of criminality, than 
criminality itself. It is resorted to, to defend 
the fair wearer, — not from the whispers of our 
sex, but of her own. Yet is it a cumbersome 
panoply, and a heavy armour. A prudish woman, 
young or old, must ever live detested. Any thing 
that is wraiatural, becomes abhorrent. 




There is no mistake now, about out-of- 
door amusements. All who have a shilling to 
spend have run away to spend it. And why 
not ? Health is alone thus obtainable in the 
summer months. 

There has just been a grand gathering of 
visitors at Trentham Park* where, by the 
kind permission^ of his Grace the Duke of 
Sutherland, all comers may freely enjoy 
themselves on the greensward. We have re- 
ceived from our amiable Correspondent, " A 
Clergyman's Wife," before introduced to 
our readers (see p. 265. vol III.), some very 
interesting particulars of the doings on the 
grand occasion ; and we quite enter with her 
into the harmless pleasures of the happy 
visitors. It must indeed have been a grati- 
fying sight, to witness so many thousand 
joyous faces assembled together, making holi- 
day. The presence of her Grace, the Duchess 
of Sutherland, too (who was present in the 
af ernoon), must have added greatly to the 
effect of the tableau. 

We learn that, from eight in the morning 
until five in the afternoon, visitors poured in 
in a continuous stream ; and at that hour the 
crowd in the park could not have numbered 
many less than forty thousand. Some of the 
young men engaged in cricket, prison bars, 
and other athletic games; but the majority 
preferred amusements in which the fair sex 
could participate ; and many were the parties 
engaged heart and soul in the stirring polka, 
and other favorite dances. Pic-nic parties 
luxuriated beneath the shade of the noble 
trees skirting the park. Those who pre- 
ferred "pairing off" — not exactly as do mem- 
bers of the legislature, — wandered along the 
numerous glades opening out in different 
directions ; whilst the more youthful engaged 
in various innocent recreations. 

It is often remarked that " it always rains 
on the Trentham day," but this year was a 
delightful exception to the watery rule. 
Warm genial sunshine, and a balmy air, largely 
promoted the enjoyment of the day. 

When evening approached, the company 
began to move off. At nine o'clock the park 
was deserted, and every road leading there- 
from thronged with joyous parties returning 

Our fair Correspondent, we should observe, 

* It was the grand week for the Stoke Wakes 
and the North Staffordshire Races, when it is 
usual for every class to congregate from all parts 
of the country for many miles around. High and 
low, rich and poor, people of all ages and of hoth 
sexes — the gentler largely predominating — meet 
in armies, on one common ground, in pursuit of 
one common object — enjoyment. 

was on a visit in the neighborhood. Her 
observations were therefore leisurely made 
in a carriage drive. Her description of the 
holiday dresses, the motley costumes, and the 
happy faces of their wearers ; their dances, 
and their various rustic sports, — has delighted 
us exceedingly. Her graphic delineation, 
too, of the natural beauties of the spot 
where these festivities were celebrated, is 
quite charming. 

How refreshing it is for us poor editors, 
during the season of drought, to meet with 
a heart like this, — so alive to the beauties of 
Nature's pencil ; so able to enter into and 
enjoy the harmless frolics and pleasures of 
the rustic peasantry ! 

We regret that our limited space forbids 
us to print our Correspondent's letter in full, 
but we have endeavored to give the spirit 
of it. May these little festivities be regu- 
larly kept up ! say we. They are wholesome 
both for mind and bodv. 


Summer Gnats. — These very troublesome little 
creatures have been, and are just now, committing 
sad havoc on the human countenance. We both 
hear them buzz, and feel them bite, whilst slum- 
bering on " the bed of wakefulness." In such a 
case, my dear Mr. Editor, that which you so much 
hate will he found very useful, — I mean the smoke 
of tobacco, in its least objectionable form of a cigar. 
Indeed, if coarse brown paper be lighted and the 
smoke allowed to enter the room for a minute or 
two, the end will be answered. The gnats will 
become stupid, and will remain on the walls, " in 
amazement lost," until the morning. The window 
will then be open, and they can take their departure. 
— Puss. 

[Thanks. Smoke, we know is a good remedy 
for this seasonable, or, rather, wre-seasonable annoy- 
ance. We have, more than once, heen sadly put 
out of late by these back-biting little rascals, who 
are so fond of cheek, and who feast so unmercifully 
on our tenderest points. They will face you, do 
what you may to prevent it. Indeed we regard 
them as a perfect eye-sore. Try the smoke, good 
people, but use cedar chips instead of pigtail. You 
will soon find your apartment " all serene."] 

Poisonous Fish. — Much curious and useful 
information is often lost to the world, from the 
want of knowledge of ivhat to observe in men who 
have the opportunity of correctly ascertaining the 
facts and conditions of many, as yet, unexplained 
phenomena which fall under their notice. The 
alleged and generally received facts of the 
poisonous nature of various fishes, in given loca- 
lities at certain seasons, whilst they are perfectly 
innocuous and suitable for food when caught in 
other places — is one of those mysterious things 
which can only be explained or disproved by one 
who possesses both the opportunity and the 
ability to ohserve correctly. On this subject Mr. 
Schomburgh remarks, in some observations on 
Anegada, one of the Virgin Islands, that whilst 

it is well-known that the yellow-billed sprat, the 
bottle-nosed cavalla, rock-fish, and at times the 
king-fish, are sometimes poisonous, and cause 
immediate death — yet that the sea surrounding 
Anegada abounds in perfectly wholesome fish of 
these kinds ; and that whilst frequent cases of 
poisoning by fish occur in the neighboring 
islands, not a single instance has ever been 
known in Anegada, where the, in other places, 
poisonous kinds are eaten with impunity. Mr. 
W. Hamilton confirms this account of the poison- 
ous nature of some of these fishes when taken 
off various of the West-India Islands ; stating 
that the yellow-billed sprat at St. Kitt's and 
Nevis, for eleven months in the year, is a most 
deadly poison ; whilst in the twelfth, he thinks 
in April, it is perfectly wholesome. So fatal is 
it, that a negro girl has been known to expire 
whilst eating it ! This quality must render it a 
questionable luxury, even in the wholesome 
season. Again, all the fish taken on the north- 
west of St. Kitt's, and between it and St. Eus- 
tatia, is said to be poisonous ; although fish of the 
very same kind, found on the other coasts of the 
island, is harmless. Mr. W. Hamilton properly 
directs attention to the noxious effects of fish in 
a certain stage of decomposition ; but fairly re- 
marks that the facts respecting the periodicity of 
the poisonous nature of some fishes are left un- 
touched by this. Again, what is the truth re- 
specting the alleged poisonous properties acquired 
by fish, &c, when exposed to the moon's rays 
in tropical seas, yet which will remain perfectly 
wholesome if sheltered from these rays ? Facts, 
not notions, on these points, would be very wel- 
come to the scientific world, if the residents in 
those islands, or frequenters of those seas, would 
direct their attention to them, and communicate 
the results of their investigations. — E. J. 

Engravings Copied by means of Iodine. — M. 
Niepce de St. Victor investigated some few years 
since, the action of various vapors on the surfaces 
of drawings and engravings ; and then noticed that 
the vapor of iodine adhered to the black parts of 
an engraving, in preference to the clear white 
spaces, in such a manner, that the impression 
might be transferred to paper imbued, or to glass 
covered with a solution of starch ; but that these 
copies were fugitive. From recent experiments, 
he finds that these copies may be rendered per- 
manent by dipping the design, thus transferred to 
the starched glass or paper, into a solution of nitrate 
of silver; when it disappears. It is then to be ex- 
posed to the light for a few seconds, whereby the 
iodide of silver, formed by the action of the silver 
solution on the iodine-starch compound, is rapidly 
colored, owing to its superior sensitiveness to the 
action of light, in comparison to the nitrate ; an I 
when the glass or paper, after this exposure, is 
plunged into a solution of gallic acid the design is 
developed, after which it must be washed with 
hyposulphite of soda like other photographs, to 
render it unalterable. Another process is described 
by M. Bayard, who exposes the engraving to the 
iodine vapor, then places it in contact with a plate 
of glass covered with sensitive albumen, which 
yields a negative, and from this plate he procures 
positive impressions by the ordinary methods 
adopted by photographers ; he by having, those 

means, successfully copied some 
gravings, without their being in 
distorted. — II. 

valuable old en- 
tho least degree 

Hymn of the City : — 

Not in the solitude 
Alone, may man commune with Heaven, or see 

Only in savage wood 
And sunny vale the present Deity ; 

Or only hear his voice 
Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice. 

Even here do I behold 
Thy steps, Almighty ! — here, amidst the crowd 

Through the great City rolled, 
With everlasting murmur, deep and loud — 

Choking the ways that wind 
'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind. 

Thy golden sunshine comes 
From the round Heaven, and on their dwelling 
And lights their inner homes — 
For them thou fill'st with air the unbounded 
And givest them the stores 
Of ocean, and the harvests of its shores. 

Thy spirit is around, 
Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along ; 

And this eternal sound — 
Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng — 

Like the resounding sea, 
Or like the rainy tempest — speaks of Thee. 

And when the hours of rest 
Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine, 

Hushing its billowy breast — 
The quiet of that moment, too, is thine ; 

It breathes of Him who keeps 
The vast and helpless City while it sleeps. 


Plants in Bed-Booms. — A silly paragraph has 
been going the rounds of the daily papers, to the 
effect that plants, or flowers in bed-rooms, are not 
injurious ! It is well to correct this silly state- 
ment. Let any one try the experiment for one 
single night. Flowers not only part with carbonic 
acid at night, but they give forth a very power- 
ful odor, which has a violent effect on the nervous 
system of very many persons. The air of a bed- 
chamber is sufficiently vitiated by its human 
occupants. There needs not the presence of other 
vitiating objects ! — Amicus. 

[Your observations are perfectly just. It is to 
be regretted, that the public papers should fill 
up their columns with such nonsense as they do.] 

Reproduction of the Toad and Frog, without 
the intermediate stage of Tadpole. — The following 
brief remarks on the Toad {Bufo vulgaris) and the 
Frog {Rana temporaria), may perhaps be received 
with some degree of interest, as they are, I believe, 
contrary to the generally-received notion of the 
procreation of these reptiles. Kay, and most 
naturalists, consider toads and frogs as oviparous 
animals ; yet it is apparent that they are vivi- 
parous as well. Or if they do not bring forth their 
young alive, they have the power of reproduction 

m a different manner to the ova, and subsequent 
tadpole. Mr. J. Higginbottom, of Nottingham, 
who has paid great attention to this subject, has 
clearly proved the development of the tadpole to 
the perfect toad, in situations wholly deprived of 
light. This I have, through his kindness, several 
times witnessed. My present remarks are intended 
to show that, occasionally, frogs and toads are re- 
produced in localities where it would be impossible 
for the intermediate stage of tadpole to have any 
existence. 1. Toads deposit spawn in cellars, and 
young toads are afterwards observed. Last summer 
several masses of spawn were procured from my 
cellar, having been found deposited amongst de- 
caying potatoes, &c, and, subsequently, young 
toads were noticed. The cellar is free from water, 
and at a considerable distance from any brook, — 
2. Young toads are observed among hot-beds. In 
the kitchen-garden at Highfield House (which is 
entirely walled round), young toads have been 
noticed round the cucumber and melon beds. The 
gardeners have been in the habit of bringing toads 
to these beds to destroy the insects ; these have con- 
tinued amongst the warm, clamp straw, all summer. 
It is after these beds have remained three or four 
months, that the young ones have been noticed. 
Toads would have to travel half-a-mile to reach 
this garden from the brook or lake ; and also to 
mount a steep hill, besides taking the opportunity 
of coming through the door. Toads, so small, are 
not seen in any other part of the gardens. — 
3 Young toads and frogs are observed in abundance 
at the summit of another hill, whilst quite small. 
During the past summer, especially in the month 
of July, very many young toads and frogs were seen 
amongst the strawberry plants; apparently from 
a week to a month old. These might possibly have 
travelled from a brook, a few hundred yards dis- 
tant ; yet it is strange that, with the exception of 
these beds, no young toads could be found elsewhere 
in the garden. A number of full-grown toads are 
mostly to be seen about these beds. — 4. Young 
frogs, dug out of the ground in the month of 
January. In digging in the garden amongst the 
strawberry-beds (near where so many toads were 
observed last summer), in the middle of January 
in the present year, a nest of about a score young 
frogs were upturned. These were apparently three 
or four weeks old. This ground had been previ- 
ously dug in the month of August, and many 
strawberry plants buried. It was amongst a mass 
of these plants, in a state of partial decomposition, 
that these young ones were observed. — 5. Young 
frogs are bred in cellars, where there is no water 
for tadpoles. In mentioning the subject to 
Mr. Joseph Sidebotham, of Manchester (an active 
botanist), he informed me that young frogs ; and, 
in fact, frogs of all sizes, were to be seen in his 
cellar, amongst decaying dahlia tubers. The 
smallest of them were only about half the ordinary 
size of the young frog, when newly-developed from 
the tadpole. He further stated, that there was no 
water in the cellar ; and no means of young frogs 
entering, except by first coming into the kitchen, — 
a mode of entry, if not impossible, highly impro- 
bable. Mr. Sidebotham never found any spawn. 
It seems probable from the above, that frogs are 
occasionally born alive in situations where no water 
can be found for the spawn to be deposited in ; and 
that toads are either reproduced in the same man- 

ner, or from the egg directly. The latter mode 
seems most likely ; owing to spawn having been 
found previously to the young toads. Mr. Higgin- 
bottom tells me, that the same remark on the birth 
of the Triton, without the stage of tadpole, has 
been mentioned to him. — E. J. Lowe. 

The Sole. — The common sole, probably from 
the comparative smallness of its size, is seldom, 
if ever, caught by bait ; only by the trawling-net. 
Soles arc found in great abundance on the coast of 
England, from Sussex to Devonshire, and on the 
shores of various counties of Ireland. The sole 
is full of roe in February, and approaches the 
shore to spawn about the end of that month, or the 
beginning of March ; after which, it is extremely 
soft and watery, and unfit for use. After spawning, 
the sole retreats into deep water ; and in the course 
of six weeks or two months, recovers its strength. 
Like the rest of the finny tribe, its flavor is finest 
when caught in deep water; before the roe or 
milt is much developed. But in consequence of 
its being rather shy of bait of any kind, it is not 
then easily taken. This fish, it is said, thrives in 
fresh water; where it will grow to double the size 
of the salt-water sole. It is in good season through- 
out the entire year, with the exception of the 
months of February, March, and April. — 
Henry K. 

Butter. — The largest quantity of butter from a 
given weight of food, and the richest milk, are 
yielded by the milk of the smaller races. The 
small Alderney, or Jersey, West Highland, and 
Kerry cows, give a richer milk than even the small 
Ayrshire. But the small Shetlander is said to 
surpass them all. These breeds are all hardy, and 
will pick up a subsistence from pastures on which 
other breeds would starve. The quantity of butter 
yielded by different eows in the same yard, and 
eating the same food, is sometimes very different. 
Some will yield only three or four pounds, a week; 
while more will give eight or nine pounds, and a 
few fifteen pounds a week. As a rare instance, I 
may mention that a cow has been known in Lan- 
cashire to yield upwards of twenty-two pounds 
in seven days. — Professor Johnstoke. 

Average Duration of Life. — Professor Bu- 
chanan makes the following obseivations upon the 
average duration of life — the effect, in part, of the 
improvements in medical science. He says that, 
in the latter part of the sixteenth century, one- 
half of all that were born died under five years of 
age, and that the average longevity of the whole 
population was but eighteen years. In the seven- 
teenth, one-half the population lived over twenty- 
seven years. In the latter forty years, one-half ex- 
ceeded thirty-two years of age. At the beginning 
of the present century, one-half exceeded forty 
years ; and from 1838 to 1845 one half exceeded 
forty-three. The average longevity of these suc- 
cessive periods has been increased from eighteen 
years in the sixteenth century, up to forty-three 
and seven-tenths by our last reports. — D. C. 

Beading at Dinner. — A very frequent cause of 
nervous affections originates in intense or unsea- 
sonable application of the mind — such as in reading 
while at dinner. By this untimely exercise of the 



brain, the blood is diverted from its proper course, 
viz., to the stomach, at the time when it is more 
particularly required there to enable the viscus to 
secrete and supply a sufficiency of gastric juice. 
Such patients cannot be benefited, except they alter 
their habits ; because, so long as they force the cur- 
rent of blood towards the brain, when the vital fluid 
is required elsewhere for the purpose of digestion, 
this function will be impaired, and but very imper- 
fectly performed. Consequently, nervous derange- 
ment will continue to result. — Dawson. 

Vocal Machinery of Birds. — It is difficult to 
account for so small a creature as a bird making a 
tone as loud as some animals a thousand times its 
size. It has become known that in birds the lungs 
have several openings, communicating with cor- 
responding air bags or cells, which fill the whole 
cavity of the body, from the neck downwards, and 
into which the air passes and repasses in the pro- 
gress of breathing. This is not all. The very 
bones are hollow ; and from these, air-pipes are 
conveyed to the most solid parts of the body, even 
into the quills and feathers. This air being rarefied 
by the heat of their body, adds to their levity. By 
forcing the air out of the body, they can dart down 
from the greatest height with astonishing velocity. 
No doubt the same machinery forms the basis of 
their vocal powers, and at once solves the mystery. 
— Eosa B. 

Nature and Art ; — or, How to Make Flowers 
Bloom. — Take of sulphate of ammonia, a quarter 
of a pound ; nitrate of potash (common nitre), two 
ounces ; moist sugar, one ounce ; boiling water, 
one pint. Mix well together. All the ingredients 
are soluble in water. When cold, the mixture is 
ready for use. For plants near their flowering 
time, either in pots or the open ground, add a few 
drops to the water that is used to moisten them. 
For hyacinths in glasses, add from five to ten drops 
of the mixture to the water in which each bulb is 
growing ; changing the water in the hyacinth- 
glass about once a fortnight. It acts, of course, as 
a stimulant to the plant, and, as such, care must 
be taken not to use too much of it; othei*wise 
the flowers would be " cut off in their bloom." — 
Jane E. 

Bees on Laurels. — My attention has been 
called to a subject on which I shall be very glad 
if some reader of our Journal will give me a 
little information. I have observed lately great 
numbers of bees flying round the laurel shrubs, 
apparently to obtain from them some product or 
other. On watching their movements, I dis- 
covered that they invariably resort to three or 
four small punctures on the under-surface of the 
leaf, near the base, from which they appear to 
extract something for their use. What I wish 
to find out is, what causes these punctures ? — they 
may be found in every young leaf — and then, 
what is it which the bees obtain from them ? If 
any one can answer these queries, he will greatly 
oblige — A Constant Eeader. 

Realisation of the Beauties of Arabian Scenery. 
— Dr. Layard observes, in his new work, that the 
glowing descriptions he had so frequently received 
from the Bedouins of the beauty and fertility of 

the banks of the Khabour were more than realised. 
The Arabs boast that its meadows bear three dis- 
tinct crops of grass during the year. On reaching 
the Khabour, the travellers pitched their tents on 
the right bank, near Arban — an artificial mound 
of irregular shape, from the summit of which " the 
eye ranged over a level country bright with flowers, 
and spotted with bright tents, and innumerable 
flocks of sheep and camels. During our stay at 
Arban, the color of these great plains was under- 
going a continual change. After being for some 
days of a golden yellow, a new family of flowers 
would spring up, and it would turn, almost in a 
night, to bright scarlet, which would as suddenly 
give way to the deepest blue. Then the meadows 
would be mottled with various hues, or would put 
on the. emerald green of the most luxuriant pas- 
tures." — Rosa B. 

Compulsory Vaccination, — By the bill as 
amended, to extend and make compulsory the 
practice of vaccination, it is very properly pro- 
posed to enact that the father or mother of every 
child born in England or Wales, after the 1st of 
August, 1853, shall, within three months after 
birth, cause it to be taken to the medical officer 
of the place and vaccinated ; unless the same 
shall have been previously vaccinated by some 
qualified medical practitioner. The Medical 
Times says — " The proportion of deaths from 
small-pox in London is three times, and in 
Glasgow six times, what it is in Brussels, Berlin, 
or Copenhagen. Of each thousand persons who 
die in England and Wales, twenty-two die of 
small-pox. Of each thousand persons who die 
in Ireland, forty-nine die of small-pox ; while of 
each thousand persons who die in Lombardy, two 
only die of smallpox. The proportionate 
mortality, then, from small-pox, in England and 
Wales is eleven times, and in Ireland twenty-four 
times greater than it is in Lombardy. Whence 
comes this difference? In England those who 
please take their children to be vaccinated ; in 
Lombardy vaccination is compulsory. The pro- 
portionate mortality from small-pox in England 
and Wales, is three times greater than what it is 
in any country in which the inhabitants are com- 
pelled, by law, to have their children vaccinated. 
These are great facts. In our metropolis, one 
thousand persons die annually of small-pox ; if 
vaccination were compulsory, it is indisputable 
that the number of deaths from this disease, in 
London, would be reduced to two or three hundred 
per annum. From six to eight hundred persons 
thus die yearly in the metropolis alone, whose 
lives might be saved by an A ct of the Legislature. 
That a Vaccination Extension Bill should be 
before Parliament ; that all should be agreed on 
the propriety of legislating anew on this impor- 
tant subject, is then, considered in the abstract, 
matter for rejoicing." — Robert M. 

Are Cochin- China Hens good Mothers'? — It 
has been the fashion to run down the natural 
instinct of these good-tempered, affectionate 
animals ; and a report has gone abroad, that they 
desert their offspring when they are a week old, 
&c. ! This is pure calumny. I have a hen, sir, 
that hatched eleven chickens, more than three 
months ago. These chickens are now fine, noble 



creatures ; and to this very day tlieir mother tries 
to brood them. She never once deserted them, 
although she has now laid an egg daily for many 
weeks ; and she is a living example that nature is 
not so unnatural as some people try to make out. 
To see this hen, and her over-grown children, 
crowding together on one perch, is a curiosity. — 
W. J., Camden Town. 

A Word fitly SpoJcen. — You did quite right, 
my dear sir, to give your readers a hint that 
they ought to try and increase the circulation of 
Our Journal. It is not correct that it should 
be borrowed and lent out from family to family. 
For my own part, I converse with you so naturally 
and so delightfully once a month, that although I 
have not yet had the pleasure of seeing you, I feel 
we are quite " one." We seem to be old, familiar 
friends; and why should it not be so? Our 
Journal was established for this very purpose.* 
This induces me on principle, — to say nothing 
of interest, to exert myself for the good cause. 
I am canvassing bravely among my friends, and 
hope that so good an example will be cheerfully 
followed by your other legion of friends. I can see 
no reason — can you ? — why you should not have 
ten thousand subscribers. — John Garland, Dor- 

[No indeed ! " The more the merrier," is an 
adage we are "naturally" anxious to keep up. 
It is this borrowing and lending system that does 
all the injury. A kind young lady residing in 
Lancaster, writes us, that all the world in those 
parts " are in love with Our Journal." She 
adds, " we are ten in family ; and when our 
copy is thoroughly read (we read every line of it), 
we send it round during the month to at least a 
dozen other families. So that you really are 
appreciated.' 1 '' Have our readers ever heard of a 
"mistaken kindness?" Surely this is one! 
We cannot understand the extreme meanness of 
people who are in good circumstances. They 
seem to enjoy everything with a rich gusto, that 
costs them nothing ! Fie, upon such a principle 
of action ! We blush — yes, we blush to know 
that any person who " loves Our Journal " can 
be possessed of so paltry a spirit. We trust that 
such people will never publicly acknowledge that 
they are of the " happy family " about whom we 
so frequently speak. Oh, — no ! But let us thank 
you, sir (which we do most heartily), for the 
honest expression of feeling that marks the 
materiel of which you are made. For such 
readers, we could write on for ever. We have 
your heart. Ere long (we hope) you shall have our 
hand. Nous verrons.~\ 

A Word in favor of the much-abused Bace of 
Cats. — I really must bring under the notice of 
your readers (and more particularly under the 
notice of your truly amiable correspondent Puss), 

* By the way, on looking over our Note-Book 
the other day, we found a number of little com- 
plimentary remarks touching Our Journal, cut, 
at different times, from the public papers. An 
idea suggested itself, that we should print them. 
They will be found in our Advertising Columns. 
They say far more for us than we dare say for 
ourself.— Ed. K. J. 

a certain article which appears in No. 638 of the 
"Illustrated London News." It is headed "A 
Chapter on Cats." I know not who the author is, 
but the paper is most charmingly written. It is 
also so truthful — so naturally truthful, throughout, 
that it really must be read by all who love animals 
for their amiability. I know you are no friend 
to cats (indeed you have given us good reasons 
for your particular antipathy), but still I know 
you are not hard-hearted, and that you are ever 
ready to give praise where praise is due. Can 
you — and if so, will you print this article in our 
Journal ? Such a gem surely ought to be " set" 
in your pages. My own experience so fully verifies 
all the pretty facts that are adduced, that I feel 
the more anxious to see them brought prominently 
forward. The cat is a very ill-used animal — little 
understood, but capable of great affection. A. B. 
R. (the writer of the article I allude to) is surely 
"one of us." May we live to see many more 
such papers from so graceful a hand ! — Bombyx 
Atlas, Tottenham, August 18. 

[Our good friend's wish has been anticipated 
in a former page. We have not thought it just 
to appropriate all the article that he alludes to ; 
but we have made a few excerpts from it, adding 
a little commentary of our own. A. B. R., if of 
the genus homo, is a " trump." If A. B. R. be a 
woman, she is an angel. There are few angels 
amongst us ; let us prize them highly — and " when 
found, make a note of ! "] 

A Hint about Standard Rose Trees. — I offer 
to the lovers of standard roses a little plan of my 
own — it has siicceeded admirably. An artificial 
prop to standard roses is unsightly, and it is both 
exposed to decay in the run of time, and to dis- 
asters from the raging of the wintry blast. In 
order to do without this prop, plant three standard 
roses (the longer the stem the better) in an equi- 
lateral triangle. If on a slope, one leg must be 
longer than the other two. They may be from 
eight to fourteen inches apart. Bring the stems 
together at the top, and bore a hole through each 
of them, a little below where they have been 
budded. Then, through these holes, thread a 
copper wire, such as is used for soda-water bottles, 
and bring the heads of the three plants quite 
close together, making the ends of the wire fast. 
This is all. You have here a group so firm and 
strong, that it can never break down, or ever 
require an artificial support. I made four groups 
last autumn. They are now in fine blow, and 
are much admired. — Charles Waterton, Walton 
Hall, Aug. A. 

Benefits from Sprinkling Blantswith Water. — 
I am very anxious to have the opinions and ex- 
perience of the readei's of our Journal on this 
subject. I have always been accustomed to 
spiinkle the floor of my greenhouse, and the 
foliage of my plants with water, under the idea 
that they were greatly benefited by the operation ; 
and I cannot help fancying that I have seen good 
result from the practice. But I have been told 
lately, that I am mistaken ; that plants do not 
absorb water by their leaves, in any quantitity at 
least ; and that, moreover, when the external air 
is colder than the atmosphere of the house, the 
vapors produced will rise to the glass, and there 



be condensed, not benefiting the plants at all. I 
should like to know what more experienced readers 
think of the matter. — E. H. C. 

First and Last Love : — 

" First love " is a pretty romance, 

Though not quite so lasting as reckoned ; 
For when one awakes from its trance, 

There's a great stock of bliss in a " second" 

And e'en should the " second " subside, 

A lover should never despair ; 
For the world is uncommonly wide, 

And the women uncommonly fair. 

Those poets their rapture may tell, 
Who never were put to the test : 
A " first love " is all very well, 

But, believe me, the " last" love's the best! 

J. B. 
[A wag, residing at Liverpool,~has sent us the 
above, requesting to have our opinion of the senti- 
ment. How shall we give it, so as to steer clear 
of offence ? Let us observe that the human heart 
is very capacious — so then, let every one of our 
loves (we will not say how many) be carefully 
packed up in that heart, and lovingly tended, 
There is no " matrimonial question" raised ; there- 
fore we speak out " like a man ! " When we walk 
in a garden filled with beautiful flowers, whose 
aroma almost overpowers our senses with delight, 
how can we dare to give any decided preference ? 
We love them all best — of course !] 

" Smoky London "with a Gleam of " Hope." — 
Your metropolitan readers, and those in the 
country also, who have any sympathy with us in 
the privation of light and pure air (which in this 
city of smoke we are called to endure), will be 
glad to hear that the House of Commons has 
passed a bill which provides that, on and after the 
1st of August, 1854, all manufactories, and also 
all the steamers on the river, from London Bridge 
to Richmond, shall consume their own smoke. 
" The smoke-protectionists, however," the Times 
tells us, " are looking very black ; they have a 
vested interest in compelling us to consume their 
smoke. It is true they do not like smoke them- 
selves ; the brewer, whose lofty chimney is a 
volcano always in a state of eruption, lives twenty 
miles out of town, where his moss-roses are not 
cankered, and where his gardener gets the prize 
for the best basket of pansies at the neighboring 
flower-show. Once a week he gets on the rail, 
and comes up to town just to see how the chimney 
draws, and how the till fills ; and then runs off, 
thanking his stars that he lives where he cannot 
smell his own grains or swallow his own smoke." 
But in spite of "vested interests," the nuisance 
is doomed : twelve months more, and it will be 
in a great measure annihilated. — R. M. 

Unqualified Medical Practitioners. — From a 
table which has been compiled, in the Medical 
Times and Gazette, comparing the number of 
practitioners in medicine, according to the census 
of 1841, with the number of qualified practitioners 
in the Medical Dictionaries of 1851 — it would ap- 
pear that the former amounted to 33,339 persons, 
the latter to 11,808, leaving 21,531 persons prac- 
tising in one or more departments of medicine, 

without due qualification. In England, according 
to the census, there was thus a practitioner to 
every 543 of the population ; in Wales, 1 to 822 ; 
in London, 1 in every 272 ; in Scotland, 1 in 
593 ; and in the British Isles, 1 in 510 ; while, 
taking the numbers in the Medical Directory, 
the proportion of qualified men to population 
was, in England, 1 in 1527 ; in Wales, 1 in 
2893; in London, 1 in 714; in Scotland, 1 in 
1614 ; and in the British Isles, 1 in 2215. The 
following observations are abridged from an 
article in the same periodical on this important 
subject : — In the table are included " Chemists 
and Druggists," and there is sufficient reason 
on the face of it for so doing. It appears that, 
deducting the chemists and druggists from the 
grand total, it would leave 22,495 persons prac- 
tising medicine according to the census, or 10,687 
more than appear in the Medical Directories. 
Thus there is 1 chemist and druggist in Great 
Britain to every 2 medical practitioners. This 
warrants the assumption that " chemists and 
druggists " are themselves practitioners to a 
great extent. Indeed, the experience at assizes 
and befoi-e coroners' juries, where detection and 
conviction are the exceptions, sufficiently attests 
the fact. We therefore include them in the 
gross total. u Keepers of lunatic asylums " have 
been omitted, though a large number of them 
would legitimately appear. It is worthy of ob- 
servation that, under the head of " keepers of 
lunatic asylums," 216 of them are females, and 
many of these under 20 years of age. In Bir- 
mingham, there was 1 "herbalist" under 20 
years of age ; 2 " keepers of lunatic asylums " 
under 20 ; 14 female leach-bleeders ; and 1 female 
physician. One female "dentist" in Taunton; 
1 " physician " in Norwich under 20 ; 2 " medi- 
cine vendors " in the Tower Hamlets under 20 ; 
1 "midwife" in Preston under 20; 1 "phy- 
sician " in Canterbury under 20 ; 2 " physicians " 
in Bristol under 20 ; 1 female " chemist and 
druggist " in Colchester under 20 ; 1 " physician" 
in Darlington under 20; and 1 female "surgeon" 
in Cornwall under 20. — Is not this, Mr. Editor, 
a very curious table? We find no fewer than 
216 females (under 20 years of age) keeping 
"lunatic asylums;" one chemist and druggist 
to every two medical practitioners ! I The " bills 
of mortality " are, heavy. Is it to be wondered 
at ! — Amicus. 

["Where ignorance is bliss," &c. We must 
not, my dear Sir, inquire too closely into matters 
of e very-day life. If we did, we should (four-fifths 
of us) die from fright !] 

Boring Shells. — Several shells have the sin- 
gular capability of boring the softer rocks of 
marble, and limestone, and reefs of coral — for the 
purpose, it would seem, of eluding their natural 
enemies. This habit is remarkable in some species 
of mussels, such as the Mytilus lithophagus and 
the M. rugosus. — W. 

The Tree Mignonette. — This may be readily 
produced. Place a young plant in a pot, with a 
stick from 16 to 20 inches long to tie it to. Con- 
tinue to strip off the lower branches as it grows, 
until you get a stem of the required length. It 
may be kept through the winter in the window of 



a moderately- warm parlor. The seeds should be 
picked off as soon as they are formed. — Hearts- 
ease, Hants. 

Remedy for Sprains. — Accidents of this sort 
are not unfrequent ; and perhaps none are more 
liable to them than the laboring class of people. 
They happen most generally in the joints of" either 
the upper or lower limbs, accompanied with much 
pain and swelling, and inability to use the limb. 
The remedy is simple, and within the reach of 
every one. Cloths, wet freely in a strong and cold 
solution of salt and water, applied and persevered 
in, generally effect a speedy cure. If necessary 
to make a shift, and the part is very painful, apply 
the leaves of garden wormwood, wet in spirits. 
Should the part injured remain weak, as it some- 
times does in severe sprains, a safe remedy is to 
pump or pour on cold water freely for a few 
mornings. — Angelina. 

The Weeping Cypress. — I have a plant of this 
celebrated Chinese tree in my garden, which is 
growing very vigorously. It is now about 2 feet 
high, but as yet shows no disposition to weep — a 
circumstance with which I am a little disap- 
pointed. Can any reader inform me whether it 
has been found to assume the weeping form in 
any garden in this country ? — E. H. C. 

Prolific Swarming of Bees. — I have lately 
noticed in the newspapers some account of an ex- 
traordinary hive of bees in the possession of R. 
Turner, of Fell House, near Whitton Gilbert, 
" which cast four times in fifteen days." I am most 
happy to inform you that not one of my hives has 
performed such an extraordinary feat. I have no 
desire for such an increase in my hives ; on the 
contrary, I try my utmost to prevent my bees 
from swarming at all, and have so far succeeded 
as not to get on an average more than one swarm 
from eight stocks of bees. The most prominent 
feature in my Temple Hive is the convenience for 
giving the bees access to four glass surplus hives ; 
thus enlarging the hive to double its size. These 
glass hives may be removed as they are filled, 
and replaced by empty ones. Thus, by enlarging 
the parent hive, I prevent the necessity of swarm- 
ing. It was on this same principle that I have 
taken seventy -four pounds of pure honey from one 
stock in the same season, leaving the parent hive 
well stored with honey for winter consumption ; 
and it is to this humane system of bee-culture that 
I invite the attention of all lovers and admirers of 
that truly interesting and valuable insect, the 
honey-bee. — W. J. Pettitt, Dover. 

Surprising " Effects^ of the Heat in America. 
— I have heard you say, Mr. Editor, that your 
mental workshop is at the extreme top of alofty house, 
in a private street. No doubt the sun, just now, 
streaming through your window, dries up your 
brain. Should then your forthcoming Journal 
not be so bright as usual, we can readily excuse 
you ; and to help you out, I send you the follow- 
ing, "cut and dried." It is copied from an 
American paper, just received. — " Gentle readers ! 
As you sprawl on your sofa this pleasant forenoon, 
or make an inverted Z of yourself by propping 
your chair-back against the wall, you probably 

think it must be ' easy' to read. Did you ever 
plough, hoe corn, or plant cabbages? We have 
been engaged in all these rural exercises ; and we 
have also swung the scythe and cradle under the 
sun of the hot south ; and we solemnly declare that 
the physical labors aforesaid are mere recreations, 
in comparison with the exhausting toil of writing 
for the press, in a close office with a south-western 
aspect, when the thermometer is in the neighbor- 
hood of the nineties. The vigorous ideas that 
should find their way by electric telegraph from 
the brain to the pen, liquify on the road, and ooze 
out in big globules of perspiration ; while the more 
delicate fancies evaporate by the ' insensible' 
process. Excuse, therefore, the shortcomings of 
genius under the sudorific influence of the summer 
solstice ; for be assured that the vertical sun, 
however it may dulcify and mature cherries, 
plums, and other fruitful ' plumpitudes,' is by 
no means favorable to the development of intel- 
lectual products." — I will not say the above is 
elegant, but it is "pithy." — Whirligig. 

[We are as thoroughly fried as our brother 
Editor, good Mr. Whirligig ; but we defy any 
amount of heat to keep us from our work. Nothing 
but a special "invite" to superintend a pic-nic 
party could do that ; unless indeed it were a snug 
little projected water-party, to certain meadows 
we wot of near Hampton Court. Such a temp- 
tation might peril the interests of the Journal 
for a single day — more especially if the gentle 
freight, borne by that gliding skiff, were of our 
own selecting.] 

Oh, Tempora I Oh, Mores ! — Did you ever see 
Venus in petticoats, my dear Sir ; or the Greek 
Slave tucked up in flounces — wearing our national 
dorsal excrescence as a "support" — under her 
sufferings? If not, "go over in two ships " to 
New York, and visit the " Great Exhibition " 
there. An appeal has been made to the autho- 
rities, by the delicate inhabitants of the city, to 
clothe in suitable apparel all the nude figures that 
have entered the building. This, they say, is 
needful, lest the morals of the people should be 
defiled, and the rising youth " get used " to see 
Nature in her own dress. Every leg is to be 
covered, every neck to be cased, every body to be 
swaddled. No arms are to be exposed. So averse 
are the good citizens to nakedness in every form, 
that the bare-headed busts (the originals having 
had no hair) are to wear hats] and the words 
"naked fact " (used fifteen times in the printed 
Catalogue) are to be expunged forthwith. 7" am 
going over on purpose to see this funny sight. 
Will you go with me? — Walter, Cambridge. 

[Walter ! you must not go. We will give 
you a " retainer " of 100 guineas to remain where 
you are. We cannot do without you. That's 
a fact ! ] 

TJiermometers. — Can you tell me the rule ob- 
served for the comparison of the three thermo- 
meters ? If so, will you oblige me by so doing ? — 
James H. 

[To reduce degrees Centigrade above zero to 
degrees Fabr., multiply by 1.8, and add 32. To 
reduce degrees Cent, below zero to degrees Fahr., 
multiply by 1.8 and subtract from 32. To reduce 
decrees Reaumur above zero to decrees Fahr. 



multiply by 2.25, and add 32. To reduce degrees 
Reaumur below zero to degrees Fahr., multiply by 
2.25, and subtract from 32.] 

The Value of Observation. — Many people are 
too apt to take things upon trust. By so doing, 
they often commit serious error, and do a positive 
injury to science. For instance, it was objected 
(says" Archbishop Whately) to the System of Co- 
pernicus (when first brought forward), that if the 
earth turned on its axis, as he represented, a 
stone dropped from the summit of a tower would 
not fall at the foot of it, but a great distance 
to the west — in the same manner as a stone 
dropped from the masthead of a ship in full 
sail does not fall at the foot of the mast, but 
at the stern of the ship. To this it was answered, 
that a stone, being part of the earth, obeys the 
same laws, and moves with it ; whereas it is no 
part of the ship, of which, consequently, its 
motion is independent. The solution was ad- 
mitted by some and opposed by others; and the 
controversy went on with spirit. Nor was it 
till one hundred years after the death of Co- 
pernicus, that the experiment being tried, it was 
ascertained that the stone thus dropped from 
the head of the mast does fall at the foot of it. 
How requisite it is, my dear Sir, for everything 
to be fully proved before it be put forth as fact ! 
— Helen W. 

[Your observation is very just. We are daily 
discovering that many things recorded as facts 
(particularly in natural history) were merely 
surmises. Later experiments have fully proved 

How to obtain perfect Impressions from the 
Leaves of Trees and Plants. — Allow me, my dear 
Sir, to present the following recipe to the notice 
of the readers of our Journal. It is not, I 
believe, new, but possibly will be so to many ; 
and it may be the means of affording them a 
little pleasant and instructive occupation for 
their leisure hours : — Take a small quantity of 
bichromate of potash (say a teaspoonful), which 
may be had at any druggist's or colorman's 
shop ; dissolve it in a saucerful of water. Then 
pass the pieces of paper, on which the impressions 
are to be taken, through the solution ; and, while 
wet, press the leaves, &c, lightly upon it, and 
expose it to the sun — which should be shining 
powerfully. When quite dry, remove the leaves, 
and a perfect fac-simile will remain in a light 
lemon shade, while the rest of the paper will be 
of a dark brown tint. Bichrome, as it is gene- 
rally termed, is in dark yellow crystals. It 
should be powdered previous to using it. — J. R. 

The "Life" in an Oyster. — The liquor of the 
oyster contains incredible multitudes of small 
embryo, covered with little shells, perfectly trans- 
parent, swimming nimbly about. One hundred 
and twenty of these in a row, would, it is calcu- 
lated, extend one inch. Besides these young 
oysters, the liquor contains a great variety of 
animalcule, five hundred times less in size, which 
emit a phosphoric light. Nor does the list of 
inhabitants conclude here ; for besides these last 
mentioned, there are three distinct species of 
worms, called the oyster worm, half-an-inch long, 

found in oysters, which shine in the dark like 
glow-worms. The sea-star, cockles, and mussels, 
are the great enemies of the oyster. The first 
gets within the shell when they gape, and sucks 
them out. While the tide is flowing, oysters lie 
with the hollow side downwards ; but when it ebbs 
they turn on the other side. — Violet, Worcester. 

Germination of Old Seeds. — Humboldt states 
that an aqueous solution of chlorine possesses the 
property of stimulating or favoring germination. 
Its action is so decided as to be apparent on old 
seeds, which will not germinate under ordinary 
circumstances. — R. 0. 

Strange Fish. — In the Mediterranean, Chin- 
nereth, and Semechomitis, as also in the Jordan, 
are found many kinds offish, which are neverthe- 
less essentially different from the European ones. 
Some are found which weigh thirty pounds. In 
the sea near Jaffa, there is found at times a species 
of fish which emits a phosphorescent light in the 
dai*k, not unlike rotten wood. This peculiar pro- 
perty of the fish is only destroyed when it is put 
over the fire, or immersed in hot water. There 
is found likewise, in the sea Chinnereth, a very 
fat fish, called Al Barbud. It has no scales ; 
therefore it is not eaten by the Jews. There are 
two kinds of fish known as Shebuta, Al Sabuta ; 
one of these is as large as a hog, and is very fat 
and well-flavored. It is not met with in Palestine, 
and is only caught in the Indian seas ; especially 
near Fiume. It is known among the Italians as 
Tanina. The other is a smaller species, has 
tender flesh, and is salted before being eaten. — 
Heartsease, Hants. 

Effects produced by an Earthquake in the 
Tropics. — The impression which the first earth- 
quake makes upon us, even if it is unaccompanied 
by subterranean noise, is an inexpressibly powerful 
and quite peculiar one. What moves us so power- 
fully is the disappointment of our inhei'ent faith 
in the repose, and immutability of the firm solid 
earth. A moment destroys the illusions of a life. 
We are undeceived as to the repose of the earth, 
and feel transported within the sphere of destroying 
unknown powers. We scarcely trust the ground 
on which we stand ; the strangeness of the occur- 
rence produces the same anxious uneasiness in 
animals. Pigs and dogs, especially, are over- 
powered by it; the crocodiles of the Orinoco, 
, (Humboldt tells us) generally as dumb as sour little 
lizards, leave the agitated bed of the river, and 
rush howling into the forests. To man an earth- 
quake appears as something omnipresent, un- 
bounded. We can escape from an active eruption, 
or from a lava stream flowing towards our dwelling ; 
but during an earthquake, wherever one flies seems 
the hearth of destruction. — Helen W . 

Degeneration of the Baces of Fruits and 
Flowers. — The wearing out of certain varieties of 
fruits and florists' flowers seems a subject well 
worthy of further investigation. It might be 
useful to bring to notice the genera, or the species 
of plants, most subject to such decay, and thus 
direct attention principally to the obtaining of 
new seminal varieties of the species most requiring 
renewal of good sorts. The apple seems particularly 



liable to wear out. There are many kitchen 
apples formerly common, that are now rare — the 
codlin, for instance, some years ago the cheapest 
apple, and the most esteemed summer one for 
puddings and tarts. The codlin was formerly a 
most abundant and certain bearer, its fruit ex- 
cellent at different stages of its growth. Gathered 
young, it was used as green apricots now are ; and 
by thinning the crop, the remaining fruit swelled 
to a large size. It was thought indispensable for 
dumplings, and for " codlins and cream ;" no other 
variety of apple having the same agreeable acidity 
and flavor. To the codlin succeeded the Lemon 
Pippin ; also now wearing out, and for winter use 
the russeting, at present scarce and a bad bearer. 
These three fruits used to be common in cottage 
gardens, some trees of them still remain in such 
a garden near Canterbury ; but they have ceased 
to bear abundantly there as elsewhere. The 
recent acquisition of valuable varieties of pears 
may have caused neglect of old sorts, many of 
them inferior to the new ones ; yet some of the 
old varieties were excellent — the bergamot, for 
instance, formei'ly abundant and cheap, but rarely 
brought to market now. The jargonelle still keeps 
its ground, though always a dear fruit. About 
sixty years ago, a fruiterer in Bridge Street pur- 
chased choice specimens of the jargonelle, at six 
shillings a dozen ; when, at the same time, the 
finest Windsor pears were sold for four shillings a 
bushel. Probably varieties of stone fruits are 
more durable than those of pears and apples, for 
some of the peaches and nectarines recommended 
in an early edition of " Miller's Dictionary" con- 
tinue in successful cultivation. The old Morello 
cherry still flourishes as formerly — so does the 
May Duke. Some varieties of cherries are, how- 
ever, disappearing ; a very rich large black cherry, 
for example, though formerly common, is now 
rarely seen ; and in Kent, it is said that the old 
Kentish cherry is becoming a shy bearer. — B. 

Voice of the Tench. — The tenacity of life in 
some fresh water fish is surprising. In none is it 
more surprising than in the Tench. Dr. Shirley 
Palmer records the fact, of his having received in 
the spring a brace of Tench, just taken from the 
water. They were deposited, by the cook, in a 
dish, and placed upon a very high shelf in the 
larder — a room situated between the dining parlor 
and cooking kitchen. On the following midnight, 
whilst writing in the dining room, to which he had 
removed in consequence of the extinction of the 
fire in the library, his attention was suddenly ex- 
cited by a deep, hollow, protracted groan, such as 
might be supposed to proceed from a large animal 
in extreme distress. It was twice or thrice re- 
peated ; and all his efforts to discover the source 
of the alarming sound were ineffectual. At length 
his ear was startled by a loud splash, succeeded 
by a groan more deep and long-continued than 
those which he had previously heard, and evidently 
proceeding from the larder. Inspection of that 
room quickly explained the mystery. One of the 
fishes had sprung down from the shelf, on the stone 
floor, and there lay, with mouth open, and pectoral 
and vestral fins extended, and uttering the sounds 
by which his midnight labors had been so unex- 
pectedly interrupted. Next day, both fishes were 
cooked for dinner ; and, such is the tenacity of life 

in the tench, that, although thirty hours had then 
elapsed since their removal from their native ele- 
ment, both fishes, after having undergone the pro- 
cess of scaling and evisceration, sprang vigorously 
from the pot of hot water when consigned to it by 
the cook. — Puss. 

[Carp and Tench, if packed in wet grass, will 
travel safely from one end of England to the other 
— and they will recover their wonted liveliness on 
being placed in a tank of water.] 

Affection of Fishes. — It has been asserted by 
some naturalists, that no fishes are known to take 
any care of their offspring. This statement, how- 
ever, is erroneous ; for two species of Hassar found 
in Africa, make a regular nest, in which they lay 
their eggs in a flattened cluster, and cover them 
over most carefully. Their care does not end here ; 
they remain by the nest till the spawn is hatched, 
with as much solicitude as a hen guards her eggs ; 
both the male and female steadily watching the 
spawn, and courageously attacking any assailant. 
Hence the negroes frequently take them by putting 
their hands into the water, close to the nest ; on 
agitating which, the male hassar springs furiously 
at them and is thus captured-. — Eosa B. 

[If you will turn, Kosa, to Vol. II. of our 
Journal, p. 390, you will there find a most graphic 
account given of the affection of the Tittlebat 
for its young. The article will amply repay a 
perusal. The facts are quite startling.] 

Culture of the Chinese Primrose. — I generally 
sow my seeds about this time, or a little earlier. 
I use shallow pans, light sandy soil, and no manure. 
They are sown thinly, and pressed down on the 
surface, so as just to be covered with the soil. 
After a gentle watering, the pans containing the 
seed are removed to a hot-bed ; there they remain 
until the young plants are about an inch in height. 
At this stage they are pricked out into the same 
sort of pans, an inch apart ; adding this time one- 
third leaf-mould to the soil. The plants are put 
into the hotbed again, until they have attained the 
height of two inches ; when they are taken out of 
the pans, and shifted into five-inch pots that have 
been well drained. The compost for this and their 
final shift, consists of equal quantities of cow-dung 
two years old, leaf-mould, peat earth, and sandy 
soil. After potting, the plants are removed into a 
cold frame, with an eastern aspect. The lights are 
kept close for a few days, and the plants are shaded 
from the midday sun until they commence growing. 
Air is then admitted ; gradually at first, but as 
soon as I perceive the plants to be fairly in a 
pushing state, I ventilate freely. The sashes are, 
however, always put on when it rains ; for nothing 
is so injurious to Primulas as water overhead, at 
any stage of their growth. As they begin to fill 
their pots with roots, I give them liquid manure 
once a week, made from pigeons' dung. I permit 
the first flower stem to rise, but only for the purpose 
of judging of the merits of the flower. As soon 
as that is decided, the good flowers are picked out ; 
and when the pots are filled with roots, the plants 
are finally shifted into eight or twelve-inch pots, 
and treated in precisely the same way as at the 
former shifting, and with the same situation and 
aspect. They remain in the cold frame until the 
middle of October. After that, they are brought 



into their winter quarters, to flower in the green- 
house. As soon as the plants have stopped grow- 
ing, I withhold the dung-water, as a continuance 
of it would be likely to destroy them in the winter 
months. — J. H. 

Production of Oxygen Gas. — M. Boussingault 
has lately described a process by which pure 
oxygen gas may be obtained from the atmosphere 
at a trifling cost, so as to enable it to be collected 
in unlimited quantities and preserved in gasome- 
ters, like coal-gas, for application to many practical 
uses in the arts. This process depends upon a 
peculiar property possessed by the earth barytes, 
of absorbing the atmospheric oxygen at one tem- 
perature and evolving it at another ; or, rather, 
the ready conversion of hydrate of barytes into 
peroxide of barium by a current of atmospheric 
air at a dull red heat ; and the decomposition of 
the peroxide, by steam, at a lower temperature, 
even at 212° F., with re-formation of the hydrate 
of barytes — the process being in reality a con- 
tinuous one. It is found in practice, advisable to 
mix the barytes with hydrate of lime or mag- 
nesia ; so as to prevent the fusing of the first. 
This mixture, when placed in an earthern tube 
heated to dull redness, is to be oxidised by 
passing a current of dry atmospheric air over it. 
So soon as the oxidation is completed, the tube 
is connected with the gas-holder, and a jet of 
steam allowed to act upon it. This re-converts 
the peroxide of barium into hydrate of barytes, 
the excess of oxygen being given off and collected 
in the gas-holder. The barytes is then again 
oxidised by a fresh current of air, and deoxidised 
by steam as frequently as required ; thus making 
the process continuous. M. Boussingault consi- 
ders that about 1000 cubic feet of pure oxygen 
gas could be obtained every twenty-four hours by 
the use of 10 cwts. of barytes, — which will answer 
for any length of time — Lynx. 

_ The White, or Barn Owl. — This bird is the 
victim of all who, ignorant of its value, can get a 
shot at it. " As a constant destroyer of rats and 
mice," says a writer on British birds, "the ser- 
vices performed by them for the agriculturist 
ought to obtain for them the'toleration which they 
well deserve." The number of mice this bird 
must destroy is very great, as a vigilant observer 
has seen him return to his nest with his prey 
every five minutes. The gardener complains of 
the destruction of his early crops of peas by mice ; 
but he feels no hesitation or remorse at having a 
shot at the bird who would be of essential service 
to him in preserving his produce from these de- 
predators ! Other useful birds are destroyed in 
like manner ; and the consequence is (of course) 
destruction to all sorts of produce by vermin, — 
insects, grubs, &c. — Argus. 

Curious Facts attending Sleep. — Sleep does not 
come on all at once, it would seem ; but by degrees. 
M. Carbinis, the French physiologist, tells us 
that the legs and arms fail, before the powers 
which, support the head ; and these last sooner 
than the muscles which sustain the back. He 
illustrates this by the cases of persons who sleep 
on horseback. He conceives that the sense of 
sight sleeps first ; then the sense of taste ; next 

the sense of smell ; then that of hearing ; and 
finally that of touch- — James C, 

A Gigantic Cedar. — There exists in California, 
says the Echo of the Pacific, on one of the moim- 
tains of the country of Calaveras, a Cedar said to 
be the largest tree in the world. A correspondent 
of the Herald of Sonora, who has paid a visit to 
the spot for the purpose of examining this prodigy 
of the vegetable kingdom, describes it as follows : — 
" At the level of the earth its circumference is 92 
feet — 4 feet up, it is 88 feet — at 14 feet, it is 61 — 
and thence it gradually tapers. Its height is 285 
feet ; and it has none of that deformity which 
commonly characterises trees with enormous 
trunks. From one end to the other, it is a model 
of symmetry. The age of this giant Cedar, counted 
by its zones, is 2520 years " (!) This king of the 
forests of the world has just had its bark — which 
at the base is nearly 14 inches in thickness — 
stripped away to a height of 50 feet, for the pur- 
pose of being sent to the Great Exhibition in New 
York, where, we understand, it now is. — J. B. 

The Swallow and the Sparrows — a Curious 
Circumstance. — I find the following in the " Here- 
ford Journal : " — Under the eaves of a house in 
St. Owen's Street, in this city, a swallow's nest of 
last year, in which a young family had been 
reared, remained for occupation (probably by the 
same birds) on their return to this country from 
their continental winter sojourn. During their 
temporary absence, the nest was taken possession 
of, and inhabited by some house-sparrows, who, 
from their loud chirrupings, seem to have found it 
very snug quarters. The swallows, wishing to 
regain possession, had several skirmishes with the 
intruders, one of whom appeared always to remain 
at home to offer resistance from the interior ; but 
they were unable to dislodge them until one day 
last week, when it was observed that a swallow 
pertinaciously attached itself to the outside of the 
nest. Here it was seen late at night, evidently 
keeping watch on the sparrow prisoner. The next 
morning, however, the sparrow had deserted his 
post ; but from the entrance to the nest the dead 
sparrow was suspended by one of its feet, which 
was firmly cemented to the outside of the nest, 
and where it still remains as an admonitory 
warning to all other burglarious sparrows. — Is not 
this a very remarkable circumstance, Mr. Editor ? 
— Jane D. 

[It reads well, Mademoiselle. If it be true, it 
is interesting. We fear, however, there is a trifle 
"too much color in the brush." We want pure 
matters of " fact."] 

A Curious Discovery of Roman Coins. — A 
Bavarian naturalist, Dr. Autenrieth, travelling in 
New Grenada, has, it is said, while excavating in 
the neighborhood of Panama, disinterred a terra- 
cotta vase, containing 364 Roman coins in bronze. 
They belong to the third and fourth centuries, and 
bear the effigies of the Emperors Maximilian, Dio- 
cletian, and Constantine the First. As there is 
no existing evidence of communication between 
the ancient Romans and Southern America, it is 
supposed, says a Munich journal, that these coins 
may have been buried by some Spanish numis- 
matist or archaeologist who inhabited the ancient 



city of Panama when it wag sacked, in 1670, by 
the Irish buccaneer, Morgan. In any case, it is 
averred that these are the first coins of the Roman 
Empire ever found in the soil of America. — R. 0. 

The Evergreen Oak as a Sea-side Plant. — 
During a recent visit to Guernsey, 1 had an oppor- 
tunity of witnessing the value of the evergreen 
Oak as a shelter plant for the sea-side. In the 
vicinity of a deep bay, subject to the most violent 
gales, and of course to the action of the salt spray, 
I saw hundreds of them in a most flourishing con- 
dition. I learnt, as was the case on the occasion 
of ^ which I speak, that during the winter their 
foliage becomes in some degree browned by the 
combined action of the severe winds and drench- 
ings of salt spray to which they are subjected; 
but that this is every season repaired, and that in 
the summer they become as green and luxuriant 
as ever. That they grow luxuriantly I had abun- 
dant evidence. Their appearance was healthy to 
a degree, scarcely to be expected in evergreens in 
so bleak a situation. They exhibited none of the 
one-sidedness so peculiar to most trees — the Eng- 
lish Oak, for example, when grown in similar 
situations — on the contrary, they appear quite at 
home on the bleak hill side. As an evergreen 
tree in similar situations, nothing that I know of 
can surpass it for shelter or for ornament. As this 
tree is proverbially a difficult one to transplant 
successfully, a hint or two gleaned on the spot may 
not be inappropriately recorded here ; if, indeed, 
what I have to convey may be considered as hints 
in addition to what is already known. I was in- 
formed by the proprietor of the property on which 
the trees in question were growing, that the loss 
of a tree by transplanting was a contingency hardly 
ever experienced. " We move them now," he 
observed — this was in the early part of March — 
" and in July. If in the latter season, we shorten 
the branches very much ; were we to leave all the 
foliage on, success would be doubtful. 1 ' The phi- 
losophy of the practice is evident enough. " And," 
continued he, " we move them with perfect safety, 
however large. You observe the tree before us " 
— this was in allusion to one with a trunk of 
some five or six inches in diameter — "that 
fellow was moved in the summer three years ago. 
You can hardly believe it, can you? but it is 
nevertheless true. Believe me we move them as 
if they were willows." And so it appeared. I 
examined the tree in question. It had been 
severely pruned back at no very remote period, 
which was of course, at the time of its removal ; 
and I do not think that I exaggerate when I say 
that in the three seasons' growth a good six feet 
of wood had been made. Associated with these 
oaks were many stone pines, well sustaining their 
character. Like the evergreen oaks, their foliage 
was brown when fully exposed to the sea-breezes. 
( )ne or two Scotch firs, that by some means or 
other had become mixed up with the assembly, 
looked as if they were astonished at finding them- 
selves in such situations. The shelter of their 
neighbors did them good service, or they had 
figured but indifferently. I may observe, by the 
way, that the practice of cutting back the branches 
of large trees, appears to me to offer the means of 
securing their safe removal, when otherwise failure 
must, as a general rule, result. There may appear 

something anomalous in the practice, on a casual 
investigation of the system, but we all know what 
vigorous shoots are pushed from a healthy stem 
denuded of its branches. Repton recommended the 
practice, and alludes to its being successfully carried 
out by a friend of his in Norfolk ; I quote his 
words: — " He " (the friend alluded to) "placed 
deciduous trees of every kind, but especially Birch 
intermixed with Thorns, Crabs, and old Hollies, 
cutting off their heads ; these are planted in a 
puddle and the earth laid round their roots in 
small hillocks, which prevent the cattle from 
standing very near them ; and thus I have seen 
groups of trees which looked like bare poles the 
first year, in a very short time become beautiful 
ornaments to a dreary waste." And of course 
such might be made to ornament other situations 
than dreary wastes ; and to my taste a bare pole 
for one year, with the certainty of its becoming a 
handsome tree afterwards, and year by year in- 
creasing in stature and beauty, is preferable to 
enduring a dead-alive tree for half-a-dozen years ; 
and which ultimately dies altogether. — Crayon. 

Deilephila Elpenor. — I have at the present 
time, feeding in my room, some remarkably fine 
caterpillars of this beautiful Sphinx. I believe 
it is much thought of in this country. Is it not ? 
I remember, when on the Continent, I used to 
hold Sphinx Elpenor in high esteem. — Bombyx 
Atlas, Tottenham, August 22. 

Spiders casting their Shins. — I am (like your- 
self, my dear Mr. Editor), a great admirer of 
Nature's handiwork. The following, copied from 
my book of observations, may prove interesting : 
" I watched this said spider when about to dis- 
engage itself from its skin. It first formed a kind 
of thick purse, in one corner of the web. It then 
went to the centre of the web ; and distending its 
body with violence for some minutes, the skin was 
rent the whole length of the back. This over, it 
began to force its body slowly through the aper- 
ture ; gradually drawing out its legs, one by one, 
till they were all released. The exuviae retained 
the form of the spider only, — being perfectly 
transparent. The insect, which was quite gela- 
tinous, and of a pale-green color, now retreated to 
the thick purse above alluded to. It did not re- 
appear until after three days." — Rosa B. 


Never was there a time when people went 
so " fast" as they do now. Our youth seem born 
with "great ideas;" and woe be to those who 
attempt to control them in their lofty projects ! 
Let such read what the good old Quarles has 
noted down for their instruction. He says — 
" At the first entrance into thine estate, keep a 
low sail. Thou must rise with honor. Thou 
canst not fall without shame. He that begins 
as his father ended, shall end as his father 
began." Alas! how is this prediction verified 
from day to day. Foolish parents are they, who 
thus yield to the caprices of their wayward, wilful 
children. Full many a heart is broken by its 
own folly, that might have been happy by the 
exercise of a little firmness, and only a grain of 
good sense. 





Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears ! 

To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 



which the mind can revel 
undisturbed by the ex- 
ternal hubbub of the 
world at large, what an 
existence would ours be ! 
The elements of which 
society is composed, are quite insufficient, of 
themselves, to render a man " happy " — and 
what is life without happiness? Our 
thoughts, be it known, fly far and wide ; and 
in their wanderings they gather sweetness. 

We are not going to venture an essay on 
Thought, much as we could say on that most 
interesting subject. Our business to-day is, 
to offer a few remarks on sundry letters we 
have received of late, bearing upon certain 
observations our pen has volunteered pro 
bono publico. And here let us express oar- 
self not only pleased, but delighted, with the 
confidence almost invariably reposed in us 
by our numerous correspondents. Their 
names and addresses' are rarely withholden ; 
and their simple narratives induce to a train of 
thoughtfulness in our active mind which is 
perfectly indescribable. There is surely 
much latent good in the world, if one could 
only draw it out. The great drawback to 
this is, the fear people express of daring to 
be singular. They tell us their feelings, and 
acknowledge their weakness in this matter. 

The article which appeared in a late 
number on the perverse taste of women in 
their mode of dre^, and blind obedience to 
the cruel laws of Fashion — also the paper in 
our last number deploring the horrid custom 
of plastering a pretty face with such over- 
whelming bands of hair, have excited marked 
attention. Some may imagine that we have 
given serious offence by our freedom of speech. 
Not so ! We always write good-temperedly, 
and will not let people be angry with us. 
We cut at their faults, not at their persons. 
We hate the former; we love the latter. 

Among the letters received during the past 
month, are several which demand serious 
attention. They are from ladies moving in 
a high position of life. Our remarks have 
worked upon the better feelings of their 
(natural) " good " nature, and they have made 
us their father- confessor. We are quite 
satisfied, that not one of the individuals we 
allude to is in the secret of any but them- 
selves having written us on the subject. Yet 
are our " confessional duties " pleasingly 

Let us select a single missive, and com- 
ment on it. As it harmonises in its views 
and feelings with the others already referred 
to, it will answer a good general end. The 
fair writer (who resides in one of our most 
fashionable squares) says — " I cannot, my 
dear sir, argue against or disprove one word 
you have uttered. That you write for our 
benefit and instruction, I freely admit. That 
you are entitled to our lasting regard, is 
speaking but faintly how I feel towards you, 
and your noble periodical. But let me tell 
you, that we young ladies cannot, dare not, 
use any discretion in the matter of taste. 
Whatsoever be the 'fashion,' with that we 
are bound to comply, or we ' lose caste ' (as 
mamma words it). Whether as regards our 
general apparel, our bonnets, our head dress, 
or what you. call ' the insult offered to the 
human face divine,' by converting our 
ornamental hair into 'blinkers,' &c, &c, 
our lot is cast. We are the creatures of 
habit. We must submit to the rules of the 
society in which we move. Yet, entre nous, 
I do indeed enjoy the perusal of OUR own 
Journal. I love its principles ; and in all 
sincerity, I may and will add, I love its 
Editor. Keep on, my dear sir; raise your 
pen, make your voice heard, and do see if 
anything can be done to deliver us from the 
hideous trammels of the god we are com- 
pelled (many of us unwillingly) to worship." 

We are proud of the missive from which 
we have made the above short extract ; and 
we could append others from a second fair 
hand, but it is quite needless. We never 
can hope — nor do we, to work a reformation 
among the veterans in Fashion's service ; but 
we feel for the younger branches, and we 
will, D.V., labor for them with unwearied 
assiduity. We will prove that Nature is a 
sweet, lovely mistress — her yoke easy — her 
burthen (gossamer) light indeed ! 

We have also in possession some very 
interesting letters in connection with our late 
remarks about Habit. We mean, the few ad- 
denda we made in our last to the article by 
Dr. Symonds. Our readers enter, readily, 
into the appreciation of those various cha- 
racteristics which so individualise many of 
the friends and acquaintance with whom 
they are associated from time to time. It is 
a pretty subject ; and at a future time we 
may be in the vein to pursue it in some of 
its most pleasing features. 

A very intimate friend of ours, who 
perused the remarks we have referred to, has 
told us some of the scenes in his early life 
that will infallibly set us thinking of the 
scenes in our early life, and the ever-to-be- 
remembered habits of " some " who at that 
time were dearer far to us than our own 
existence— indeed we only " lived " when we 
heard their footstep, breathed when we heard 

Vol. IV.— 9. 



their sweet laugh. We felt spell-bound when 
we handed their fairest of all fair forms into 
their little carriage. And oh ! that look — 
oh ! those matchless eyes that spoke the 
unuttered words — Good bye ! We distinctly 
hear the receding wheels of that little car- 
riage now. 

But as we are not going to write an article 
to-day upon the characteristic habits of those 
we love and esteem ; we throw down our pen 
at once — else should we be constrained to let 
it utter what we feel it longs to pour forth. 

" There is a time for all things under the 



We have on a number of occasions 
directed attention to the fine-spun webs 
floating in the air, and known as gossamer. 
At this particular season, early-risers (and 
we hope every one of our country readers 
rise early) may see them in all their glitter- 
ing beauty. No money can purchase a sight 
like this. 

Nor are these webs to be viewed without 
a feeling of intense curiosity. We would 
know whence they come, — how they are 
formed, and what their object. Minutely, 
inhnitesimally small though they be, let us 
rest assured that the little spinners are 
capable of the purest enjoyment ; and that 
the morning air is an element in which they 
revel with ecstacy. During the lovely 
mornings of autumn, we note these matters 
with rapturous feelings of delight. As we 
have before said, the insect world just now 
is in all its glory.* 

* The first grand display of gossamer dining 
the present season, met our eye on the morning 
of the 24th of August. At 5 a.m., looking from 
our casement, we noticed a heavy impending 
mantle of fog. Indeed, the trees in the garden 
were not visible. This was the signal for us to 
" up and away." We well knew what awaited 
us oelow. We found, as we anticipated, that the 
air was full of web ; that every tree and shrub 
was impeaiied with dew, and loaded with the 
curiously-constructed domiciles of the geometric 
spider. If we say there were at the very least 
two hundred of these habitations, we speak quite 
within compass. Those who know how we revel 
in observations of nature, in these her finest and 
most subtle provisions for the happiness of her 
children, will not require to be told what a treat 
we enjoyed — a treat, than which nothing could be 
more delightful. The ropes, ladders, scaffolding, 
manoeuvres of the builder to secure the unsus- 
pecting prey, the adyta et penetralia of the family 
mansion, and other domestic arrangements of 
these little creatures, fairly fascinated lis. We 
have enjoyed the same sight frequently of late ; 
and shall continue to do so whilst opportunities 
offer.— Ed. K. J. 

At the request of a subscriber who feels 
much interest in this subject, we insert a 
letter on the Gossamer, from the pen of Gil- 
bert White, of Selborne. Mr. White's 
observations are indeed worth recording in 
our columns. The letter was originally 
addressed to the Honorable Daines Bar- 
rington : — 

Dear Sir, — On September the 21st, 1741, 
being then on a visit, and intent on field diver- 
sions, I rose before daybreak ; when I came into 
the enclosures, I found the stubbles and clover 
grounds matted all over with a thick coat of cob- 
web, in the meshes of which a copious and heavy 
dew hung so plentifully, that the whole face of the 
country seemed, as it were, covered with two or 
three setting-nets, drawn one over another. When 
the dogs attempted to hunt, their eyes were so 
blinded and hoodwinked, that they could not 
proceed, but were obliged to lie down and scrape 
the encumbrances from their faces with their fore- 
feet ; so that, finding my sport interrupted, I re- 
turned home, musing in my mind on the oddness 
of the occurrence. 

As the morning advanced, the sun became 
bright and warm, and the day turned out one of 
those most lovely ones which no season but the 
autumn produces — cloudless, calm, serene, and 
worthy of the south of France itself. 

About nine, an appearance very unusual began 
to demand our attention — a shower of cobwebs 
falling from very elevated regions, and continu- 
ing, without any interruption, till the close of the 
day. These webs were not single filmy threads, 
floating in the air in all directions, but perfect 
flakes, or rags; some near an inch broad, and 
five or six long, which fell with a degree of 
velocity that showed they were considerably 
heavier than the atmosphere. 

On every side, as the observer turned his eyes, 
he might behold a continual succession of fresh 
flakes falling into his sight, and twinkling like 
stars, as they turned their sides towards the 

How far this wonderful shower extended, it 
would be difficult to say ; but we know that it 
reached Bradley, Selborne, and Alresford, three 
places which lie in a sort of triangle, the shortest 
of whose sides is about eight miles in extent. 

At the second of those places, there was a 
gentleman (for whose veracity and intelligent 
turn we have the greatest veneration), who ob- 
served it the moment he got abroad ; but con- 
cluded that, as soon as he came upon the hill 
above his house, where he took his morning rides, 
he should be higher than this meteor, which he 
imagined might have been blown, like thistle- 
down, from the common above ; but, to his great 
astonishment, when he rode to the most elevated 
part of the down, three hundred feet above his 
fields, he found the webs, in appearance, still as 
much above him as before ; still descending into 
sight in constant succession, and twinkling in the 
sun, so as to draw the attention of the most 

Neither before nor after, was any such fall ob- 
served ; but on this day the flakes hung in the 
trees and hedges so thick, that a diligent person 
sent out might have gathered baskets full. 



The remark that I shall make on these cobweb- 
like appearances, calledgossamer,*is,that strange 
and superstitious as the notions about them were 
formerly, nobody in these days doubts that they 
are the real production of small spiders, which 
swarm in the fields in fine weather in autumn, 
and have a power of shooting out webs from 
their tails, so as to render themselves buoyant 
and lighter than air. But why these apterous 
insects should that day take such a wonderful 
aerial excursion, and why their webs should at 
once become so gross and material as to be consi- 
derably more weighty than air, and to descend 
with precipitation, is a matter beyond my skill. 
If I might be allowed to hazard a supposition, I 
should imagine that those filmy threads, when 
first shot, might be entangled in the rising dew, 
and so drawn up, spiders and all, by a brisk 
evaporation, into the regions where clouds are 
formed ; and if the spiders have a power of coil- 

* Gossamer has been long noticed both by 
poets and naturalists. It is now known to be 
produced by several kinds of spiders, particularly 
the flying ones. Mr. Murray, who has given 
much attention to the economy of these insects, 
says, they have the power of projecting their 
threads to a considerable distance, and by this 
means transporting themselves from the ground 
to any elevation in the atmosphere, or from the 
apex of one object to another. He is of opinion 
that the threads of their web are electric, or so 
influenced by that subtle element, that buoyancy 
is imparted, and the baseless shrouds of this aerial 
voyager are, together with their fabricator, raised 
into the higher regions of the air. 

Most spiders, when crawling over uneven sur- 
faces, leave behind them a thread ; serving as a 
cable, or line of suspension, lest they should fall, 
or be blown from their eminence ; so that nearly 
the whole surface of the ground is covered with 
the network of these singular animals. Besides 
the ground spiders, other wanderers contribute 
to these accumulations, which, however delicate, 
are at the same time durable. That this tissue is 
always on the increase, may be noticed by follow- 
ing a plough for a short space ; for no sooner has 
it finished one ridge, than the fresh mould turned 
up is equally interlaced with innumerable threads, 
which glisten in the sun's rays, and can only 
be accounted for by the circumstance mentioned 
by Mr. Murray — that during fine weather the air 
is filled with these excursive webs of the aranea 
aeronautica. The spider is often seen at the end 
of its thread, with extended limbs ; balancing 
itself like a bird, and invariably floating before 
the wind. The same gentleman, however, says, 
he has seen threads projected in a close room, 
where there was no current of air to carry them 
in a direct line, which is an interesting fact. 

Mr. Murray thinks that electricity, either posi- 
tive or negative, is an active agent in the move- 
ment of the spiders' webs ; wdiich opinion has 
been combated by Mr. Bakewell, who asserts 
that they have not the power of propelling their 
webs without assistance from the wind^ and that 
the cobwebs seen floating in the air are raised 
from the surface of the ground by the action 
of air, highly rarefied by a cloudless sun. — 
Ed. K. J. 

ing and thickening their webs in the air, as Dr. 
Lister says they have [see his Letters to Mr. 
Ray], then, when they were become heavier than 
the air, they must fall. 

Every day in fine weather, in autumn chiefly, 
do I see those spiders shooting out their webs and 
mounting aloft ; they will go off from your finger, 
if you will take them into your hand. Last 
summer, one alighted on my book as I was read- 
ing in the parlor ; and running to the top of the 
page, and shooting out a web, took its departure 
from thence. But what I most wondered at was, 
that it went off with considerable velocity in a 
place where no air was stirring ; and I am sure 
that I did not assist it with my breath. So that 
these little crawlers seem to have, while mount- 
ing, some locomotive power without the use of 
wings, and to move in the air faster than the air 

Selbome, June 8th, 1775. (x. W, 



[from our own correspondent.] 

Truth, like a single point, escapes the sight, 
And claims attention to perceive it right. 


The creatures of Man's art may catch the eye ; 
But Truth's sweet nature captivates the soul. 



wife of A literary man, must indeed be a 
woman. She must combine in her character 
all those pleasing attributes which we often 
find described, but so rarely meet with in 
real life. 

She must be neither selfish in feeling, vain, 
prodigal, nor passionate. She must be one 
who will not marry where she cannot respect; 
one who, when she has consented to lay aside 
her virgin honors, will love her husband 
with a devotion that shall waive every other 
consideration but that of her duty to God. 
She must be even more than this ; she must 
be self-sacrificing in disposition, and be 
willing to endure much loneliness ; and also 
learn, if she have not already learnt, to have 
a fondness for her husband's pursuits, in 
which case she will receive a return that will 
be dearer far than all the world can offer. 

A man of literary pursuits sins against 
himself and the woman he marries, if he takes 
one who is but a votary of Fashion — whose 
empire is in the drawing-room, and not in 
the seclusion of domestic life. And if he 
marry a literary pedant, he will be still more 
unfortunate ; unless the pedantry be that of 
a young, active, and inquiring mind, which 
is pleased with its first essay into the regions 
of learning. She should not resemble the 
first wife of Milton, whom the poet married 
from sudden fancy. Unable to endure his 
literary habits, and finding his house too 
solitary for her romping disposition, she 
beat his nephews, and conveyed herself away 
at the expiration of the honey-moon ! Nor 



like the wife of Bishop Cooper, who, 
jealous of his books, consigned the labor of 
many years to the flames. Nor like the wife 
of Sir Henry Seville, whose affection was 
so strong as to cause her to destroy his most 
valuable manuscripts, because they monopo- 
lised so much of his attention. Neither 
should she resemble in character Mrs. Bar- 
clay, who made both herself and her 
husband ridiculous by her great public admi- 
ration of his abilities — she considering him 
little less than a demi-god. 

She should either be like the lady of 
Dacier, who was his equal in erudition and 
his superior in taste, but whose good sense 
caused her to respect and give place to her 
husband at all times and on all occasions, 
and whose love for him kept her from the 
slightest feeling of presumption, because 
she was his equal in mind — or, as the wife of 
Wieland, a domestic woman, who, though 
not much given to study, was of a calm, even 
temperament, and always soothed instead of 
excited her husband's irritable disposition. 

Above all things, the wife of a literary man 
must avoid jealousy. Jealousy and suspicion 
poison the very springs of life. Only give 
them entrance once, and farewell to happi- 
ness ! All public men must be "privileged. 11 
Their avocations demand this. They are 
made the depositories of a host of secrets, 
emanating from persons whose names, 
characters, and objects must be revered like 
Truth — held sacred as Holy Writ. 

It is impossible to conceive what some- 
times is imparted to the Editor of a public 
journal. In him, is vested a power for good 
or evil which is positively gigantic in its 
extent. His wife then, as a prudent woman, 
should yield him implicit confidence, and 
believe him incapable of doing or saying any- 
thing prejudicial to her interests or his 
honor. She should trust him, cheerfully, 
with anybody, anywhere ; and always treat 
him as the well-beloved object of her heart 
of hearts. Such a man, if well educated, 
would never be found tripping ; whilst his 
love for his wife will be boundless as the 
ocean. Try this course of action, fair ladies, 
and tell us if we be not a true prophet. 
Nature is a good mother ! 

There remains only to be said, that a 
literary man, in choosing a wife, should not 
look so much for shining abilities, as for a 
clear, discriminating judgment, and a warm 
and affectionate heart. A combination of 
these qualities, if he be not an unreasonable, 
cross-grained tyrant, will be SURE to bring 


New York, Aug. 1. Umbra. 

[The above is from the pea of our Ame- 
rican Correspondent ; and as we cordially 
agree in sentiment with the worthy writer, 
all we shall add to it is — " Probatum est I' 1 ] 



Gor> made the world, good in his sight ; 
He bless'd it when he gave it light — 
But sin has cast a mournful gloom 
E'en from the cradle to the tomb, 
Diffusing with its poison'd breath — 
Want, misery, disease, and death ! 

But there are many scenes in life 
Unsullied by the hand of strife ; 
Free from the ravings of despair, 
Exempt from sorrow, pain, or care — 
Scenes that convey our thoughts above, 
To holy, pure, unchanging love. 

In infancy, how oft we trace 
Emblems of innocence and grace ; 
We seem to breathe a purer air 
When we behold a child at prayer, 
And hear its lisping accents say — 
" Lord, teach a little child to pray !" 

How gracefully the blushing morn 
Unfolds her charms ! the golden corn 
Waving with elegance and ease, 
In meek submission, as the breeze 
Wafts gently by. Here let us raise 
A grateful song of prayer and praise. 

I love the pensive evening hour, 
When dew-drops fall on field and flower ; 
When stars are peeping, one by one, 
As if they feared the setting snn 
Had not resigned his throne of light, 
And left them victors of the night. 

But there's a scene, oh ! brighter far 
Than morning sun or evening star ; 
'Tis when the Christian yields his breath, 
And leaves this world for Heaven. Death 
Has no sting ! No doubt or care 
Assails his soul — for God is there ! 


" Render unto Ccesar the things which are Caesar's." 

My dear Sir, — As you invite your 
readers to contribute from their store of in- 
formation, or anecdotes, to the general fund 
of that branch of natural science which OUR 
Journal is especially designed to illustrate, 
I am induced to send you the following 
sketch of one of the most interesting of a 
species, for which, in general, I believe, you 
entertain no particular liking — that of mon- 
keys. Whether, with Dr. Ollapod, you class 
cats, rats, monkeys, and old maids, in the 
same category, I cannot presume to say ;* 
suffice it for the present purpose, that I entreat 
your indulgence for the following brief me- 

* As we are not put upon our oath, we had 
rather leave this an "open question." Dr. Ollapod 
was a funny fellow. He was a brave fellow too, 
thus to beard the race of " old maids " to their 
very teeth. — Ed. K. J. 



morial of one of the gentlest and most playful 
of the long-tailed tribe that I ever met with, 
in the course of a tolerably long acquaintance 
with most branches of natural history. 

In the course of the summer of 1849, I be- 
came the possessor of a young female Mau- 
gabey monkey {Cercopithecus Fuliginosus). 
For the information of those of your readers 
who may not be intimately acquainted with 
the modern sub -divisions in zoological no- 
menclature, it may be as well to mention 
that the genus Cercopithecus includes all the 
monkeys, properly so called, which have 
cheek pouches, and perfectly - developed 
thumbs on the anterior extremities. The 
whole of the Cercopithecus tribe are of a light 
and active make ; the head round, the face 
comparatively short, and the eyes bright and 
somewhat prominent. The body is, in 
general, slender; the limbs long; and vivacity 
and activity characterise every movement. 
In disposition, the individuals of this genus 
are mostly playful and gentle ; and if some 
display occasionally a little impetuosity in 
confinement, yet all are free from the dis- 
gusting habits and propensities exhibited by 
other varieties of the Quadrumana. 

The monkey in question soon became very 
familiar, and answered to the name of Jean- 
nette as readily as a dog would do. Brought 
from a very warm climate — the eastern coast 
of Africa — we quickly discovered the neces- 
sity of preserving an even temperature in the 
place where she was kept. During the 
summer, her dwelling-place was a very large 
cage in the garden, which, in the winter, was 
exchanged for a hutch of considerable size 
in the kitchen, with a sleeping box attached 
to it, warmly stuffed with hay ; into this 
she was accustomed to retire at night. 

Her color, as may be imagined from the 
name of the species, fuliginosus, was of a 
dark, sooty, blue-black ; the hair, very fine 
and long, gradually shading into a light grey 
as it approached the breast and stomach. She 
seemed to take great pleasure in smoothing 
and dressing her delicate coat, and was most 
remarkable for her general cleanliness of 
habit in all respects. Finding how gentle 
and tractable she appeared to be whenever any 
one approached her, I resolved one evening 
to let her out, free from a chain or any other 
restraint, in the room where I was sitting. 
It was winter, and a fire was burning brightly 
in the grate, protected by a fire-guard — for 
fear of accident to any of my young olive- 

No sooner did Miss Jeannette find herself 
at liberty, than she performed a deliberate 
circuit of the room, until her attention was 
suddenly arrested by the blaze and warmth 
of the fire. She made instantly towards it, 
without perceiving the sleeping figure of 
Zoe, a pet Italian greyhound, that lay curled 

up on a corner of the soft Turkey rug in front 
of the grate. The peculiar shrill, bird like 
chatter by which the monkey was accustomed 
to express her sense of pleasure, roused the 
slumbering greyhound in a moment. Dog 
and monkey stood for a few seconds staring 
at each other, until the latter softly extended 
her long velvetty arm, and patted the grey- 
hound on the head. Zoe, seeing no hostile 
demonstration, received these approaches 
with great cordiality ; and the intimacy thus 
begun was never afterwards interrupted. 
Monkey and dog would play with each other 
in the most amusing manner for hours to- 
gether ; and frequently on a winter's night, 
after gambolling until they were tired, the 
dog would stretch herself before the fire at 
full length, while Jeannette would curl her- 
self up on the hearth-rug, and make a pillow 
of Zoe's back. 

Before the monkey had been in my pos- 
session three months, her playfulness and 
docility were such that she would gambol with 
my children and suffer them to do almost 
anything with her, without on any occasion 
showing the slightest malice or ill-temper. 
Indeed an anecdote that I am now about to 
relate, would almost make one believe that 
the creature entertained a vivid sense of 
gratitude for kindness. Fond as she was of 
all my children, she was peculiarly attached 
to my eldest little daughter; and would sit on 
her lap by the hour, dozing and murmuring 
gently like a kitten. On one occasion, the 
child had been petting the monkey, as she 
lay on her lap, as usual ; and feeding her with 
nuts and other monkey-dainties ; when Jean- 
nette suddenly leapt down, ran to the fire- 
place, and began searching eagerly among 
the cinders, until she found one apparently 
to her liking. With the cinder in her paw, 
she sprang again into my little daughter's 
lap; and, as if presenting her with the greatest 
delicacy imaginable, thrust the cinder into 
her lips. The child, it need scarcely be said, 
refused the proffered treat ; and, after a 
few more ineffectual attempts, the monkey, 
finding her present scorned, put the cinder 
into her own mouth, and quickly crushed and 
swallowed it. It is worth noting that we 
found cinders, chalk, and calcareous sub- 
stances in general, eagerly seized by the 
monkey; and small pieces at once devoured. 

Another amusing instance of the monkey's 
singularity of taste, occurred one afternoon 
when I was absent. My wife was sitting by 
herself in the parlor, when her attention was 
excited by a tapping against the door. Fancy- 
ing it was one of the children, she exclaimed, 
" Come in ! " but no one came, and the noise 
was repeated. Somewhat puzzled as to the 
cause of the knocking, she rose and opened 
the door ; when, to her amazement and not a 
little to her consternation, in bounded Jean- 



nette. On the table stood a medicine- bottle, 
about one-third full of a most nauseous 
rhubarb mixture. The monkey's curiosity 
was instantly excited by the sight of the 
bottle. She sprang upon the table, seized 
the bottle, and shook it violently : but the 
cork was an obstacle. However, she soon 
managed to pull it out with her teeth ; and 
then placing the neck of the bottle in her 
mouth, drank off every drop of its repulsive 
contents with apparently the greatest gusto. 
You can well imagine that this was a very 
droll performance. 

Throughout the whole time that this 
monkey was in my possession, I never once 
saw her evince any signs of malice, or fero- 
city of disposition ; although on one occasion 
her temper must have been rather severely 
tried. When she was first brought to me, a 
small collar was fastened round her neck; to 
this a thin chain was usually fixed, before we 
felt sufficient confidence in her tameness to 
suffer her to be at large in the room. One 
morning, desiring to exhibit the monkey to 
some friends, I called to her to come out of 
her cage ; but she only looked up, and did 
not seem at all inclined to stir. Thinking 
she might be sleepy or lazily inclined, I 
slipped the chain through the buckle of the 
collar. She remained quite still. I pulled 
her, and then she made a plaintive murmur, 
and put her hand to her neck. Then, for the 
first time,I fancied something might be wrong. 
I took her out and examined her ; and, to 
my sorrow, found that the tin collar had 
worked through the leather binding, and 
caused quite a severe wound in the poor little 
animal's neck. I need not say that the 
manacle of slavery was at once removed, and 
never again placed upon her. A few simple 
remedies effected a complete cure, and not 
the slightest scar remained after three weeks 
had elapsed. 

Poor Jeannette was carried off in the 
autumn of 1850, by an attack very strongly 
resembling cholera. She was sent to a famous 
animal-doctor at Pimlico, who exerted all his 
skill, but in vain, to save her. To the last, 
she exhibited the same gentleness of dispo- 
sition, which had, during her short career, 
won for her so many friends ; and my 
children, to this day, often talk of their 
merry games with — poor Jeannette, the 

■\ C. J. P. 

Dawlish, Sept. 10. 


As, in geometry, the oblique must be known as 
well as the right ; and in arithmetic the odd as 
well as the even — so in actions of life, he who 
seeth not the filthiness of evil, wanteth a great 
foil to perceive the beauty of virtue. — Sir P. 


Hard is the task, and bold the advent' rous flight, 
Of him who dares in praise of beauty write ; 
For when to that high theme our thoughts ascend, 
'Tis to detract, — too poorly to commend ? 


We have always been impressed with 
the belief, that the Spanish women are truly 
beautiful. All travellers of the masculine 
gender have pronounced them so, and it is no 
more than fair to give them — at least some 
of them — credit for a sound judgment in the 

But there is a new version abroad, put forth 
by Lady Louisa Tenison. She — woman 
like — " cannot see " much to talk about in 
Spanish beauty, nor in Spanish dress. It is 
amusing to hear her talk, and to turn to the 
pages which have been written by other 
writers of the opposite sex. Oh, Woman! 
verily thou art a paradox ! 

Nor is it less amusing to hear her lady- 
ship sit in judgment on the taste of the Spanish 
women, as regards dress. No doubt she 
takes her own countrywomen as her model ! 
But let us listen to her comments : — 

On the Alameda, or public walk of Malaga, such 
a variety of colors meet and dazzle the eye, as to 
make the stranger at once conclude that whatever 
attractive qualities Spanish women may possess, 
taste in dress cannot be considered among them. 
The most striking novelty on first landing in Spain, 
is the mantilla, or black veil, which is generally 
worn ; although here and there bonnets are creep- 
ing in, and Spanish women are sacrificing the only 
becoming peculiarity they have left, in order to 
imitate the fashions of their neighbors. 

There is an elegance and a dressy appearance 
about the mantilla which create surprise at its not 
having been adopted by other nations ; and if 
Spaniards could only be made to feel how unbe- 
coming bonnets are to them, the rich masses of 
whose splendid hair prevent the bonnet being pro- 
perly worn, they would cherish the mantilla, as 
conferring on them a peculiar chami in which 
they are safe to fear no rivals. I know that I 
shall be accused of insensibility and want of taste, 
when I confess that my first disappointment on 
landing in Spain was the almost total absence 
of beauty amongst the Spanish women. 

This last observation is conclusive as to 
the justness of our foregoing remarks. 
Women are not correct or competent judges 
of " beauty " in their own sex. They do 
not " see with our eyes." How should they? 
Her ladyship proceeds : — 

Poets have sung of Spain's " dark glancing 
daughters," and travellers have wandered through 
the country with minds so deeply impressed with 
the preconceived idea of the beauty of the women, 
that they have found them all their imagination 
so fondly pictured, and in their works have fostered 
what I cannot help maintaining is a mere delusion 
— one of the many in which people still indulge 
when they think and dream of Spain. 

The women of Spain have magnificent eyes, 



beautiful hair, and generally fine teeth ; but more 
than that cannot be said by those who are content 
to give an honest and candid opinion. I have 
rarely seen one whose features could be called 
strictly beautiful ; and that bewitching grace and 
fascination about their figure and walk which they 
formerly possessed, have disappeared with the high 
comb which supported the mantilla and the narrow 
basquina — which gave a peculiar character to 
their walk. 

With the change in their costume, those dis- 
tinctive charms have vanished. The gaudy colors 
which now prevail have destroyed the elegance that 
always accompanies black, in which alone, some 
years since, a lady could appear in public. No 
further proof of this is required than to see the 
same people at church — where black is still con- 
sidered indispensable, and on the Alameda, with 
red dresses and yellow shawds, or some colors 
equally gaudy, and combined with as little regard 
to taste. Although I have not yet discovered the 
beauty of the Spanish women, I must say that the 
Malaguenians are fairly entitled, in all that does 
exist, to dispute the palm with the inhabitants of 
any other town we have visited. There are some 
very pretty faces, and very characteristic of the 
Spanish countenance. They are generally very 
dark, and almost all have that peculiar projecting 
brow which gives to the face quite a character of 
its own. 

This involuntary admission argues still 
more forcibly that her ladyship's prejudice 
blinds her better judgment. 

The women have a universal custom of putting 
fresh flowers in their hair. It strikes one much 
upon first arriving, to see those of every class 
(even the poorest) with some flower or other most 
gracefully placed in their rich black hair ; the 
beauty of which is not a little enhanced by the 
bright red rose or snowy jessamine, contrasting 
so well with their raven tresses. The hair is 
generally worn plain, — curls being seldom seen, 
for they do not suit the mantilla ; and if flowers 
cannot be procured, some bright ribbon is in- 
variably worn as a substitute. The love of bril- 
liant and showy colors appearing to form a ruling 
passion in the present day, offers a singular con- 
trast to the fashion twenty years ago, when a lady 
who would have ventured into the street dressed 
in anything but black, would have been mobbed 
and insulted by the people. Our first visit to the 
theatre at Malaga confirmed my impressions of 
the exaggerated accounts generally given of 
Spanish beauty. 

This final fling settles the point. The 
animus of the writer is seen bright as the 
sun at noon-day. We therefore take it for 
granted that the Spanish women have very 
good taste, and that their beauty is unde- 



On ! who would linger when gay Summer calls 

From every flowery mead and bosky dell ? 
Oh ! who would linger 'neath the city's walls 

When waves upon the wind the heather-bell ? 

When the green corn-fields' promise 'gins to 
The filling ear ? When silence at high noon 

Doth of the songsters' callow younglings tell ? 
Who can resist the merry voice of June, 
When Nature in reply doth every heart attune ? 

Now venture forth my first, with buoyant grace 

And light step, wandering thro' the grassy 
lane ; 
Health spreads its mantling blushes o'er her face, 

And shyness doth her spirits' flow restrain. 

Soon as the summit of the hill we gain, 
And the pure breeze hath fanned her open brow, 

To check the gay infection were in vain, — 
And laughing, warbling, bounding she will go, 
Racing to reach the brook which cheers the vale 

Then, bending o'er the streamlet's leaf-fringed 
To watch the sportive minnows glancing gay, 
Start back to see my second all untied, 
And blush to mark its lawless disarray 
Reflected there. The wanton zephyrs play 
With each bright tress, whilst she, with pretty 
The breeze will chide, and turn her head away, 
And rest upon some jutting rock, apart, 
To smooth her truant curls, and still her beating 

Sure 'tis a pleasant picture thus to see 

That fair young creature cast her eyes around 

Half closed, yet sparkling with a covert glee, 
Scanning the summer treasures which abound 
On the o'er-arching rock — its summit crowned 

By plume of waving fern ! whilst hanging there, 
My whole in verdant clusters may be found, 

Scattering all moisture to thirsty air, 

And flinging from its leaf each dew-drop glittering 



The fault of the old English writers was, that 
they were too prone to unlock the secrets of 
nature with the key of learning, and often to 
substitute authority in the place of argument. 

The extensive use of opium and 
rice arrack among the Chinese and 
Malays, is pretty generally known. It is 
also tolerably well known that the Burmese 
and Mughs are extensive consumers of 
spirits. On this side the Ganges, the use of 
alcohol made from Rice sugar, Palm-juice in 
its various states, from the flower of the 
Bassia, from the bark of Acacia Sundra, is, 
if not equally common, at least widely 
spread. The Rajpoots, too, and the Kolies 
of Western India, are great Opium-eaters ; 
and the employment of this drug in rearing 
children of the most tender age is universal 
among all classes of Indian society. From 
what can be observed, however, there seems 



every reason to think, not only that the 
moderate use of the drug is innoxious to 
children, but positively beneficial, in bringing 
them through the critical periods of denti- 

In the more southern parts of Western 
India, the spirits used are distilled from 
Palm juice, from sugar in its various forms; 
and less frequently from the cereal grains ; 
whereas north of Bombay and throughout 
Guzerat and Rajpootana the distillation from 
the flower of the Bassia lat/folia, Roxb., is 
greatly the most common. This flower is 
collected in the hot season by Bheels and 
others, from the forests ; also from the 
planted trees,which are most abundant in the 
more open parts of Guzerat and Rajwarra. 
The ripe flower has a sickly sweet taste, re- 
sembling manna. Being very deciduous, it 
is found in large quantities under the trees 
every morning during the season. A single 
tree wiU afford from 200 to 400 lbs. of the 
flowers. The seed affords a great quantity 
of concrete oil, used in the manufacture of 
soap. The Forest of Bheel population also 
store great quantities of the dried flowers 
as a staple article of food. Hence, in ex- 
peditions undertaken for the punishment or 
subjection of those tribes when unruly, the 
Bassia trees are threatened to be cut down 
by the invading force ; and this threat most 
commonly ensures the submission of the 

In Guzerat and Rajpootana every village 
has its spirit-shop for the sale of the dis- 
tilled liquor from the flowers. In the island 
of Caranja, opposite to Bombay, the govern- 
ment duty on the spirits distilled (chiefly 
from this flower) amounts to at least £60,000 
per annum. I rather think that £80,000 is 
most generally the sum. The Parsis are the 
great distillers and sellers of it in all the 
country between Surat and Bombay, and 
they usually push their distilleries and shops 
into the heart of the forest which lines the 
eastern border and hills of those countries. 
The spirit produced from the Bassia is, when 
carefully distilled, much like good Irish 
whiskey, having a strong smoky and rather 
fetid flavor. This latter disappears with 

The fresh spirit is, owing to the quantity 
of aromatic or empyreumatic oil which it 
contains, very deleterious, and to the Euro- 
pean troops (her Majesty's 4th and 17th 
Dragoons) stationed in Guzerat some 30 
years ago, appeared to be quite as poisonous 
as the worst new rum of the West Indies has 
generally proved to our soldiers. It excited, 
immediately, gastric irritation ; and on this 
supervened the malarious fever so common 
in those countries. The regimental artificers, 
musicians, &c, and all whose extra means 
enabled them to obtain a larger supply of 

this liquor, were the first people to be cut off ; 
but finally, the fever spared few or none, and 
the only effective remedial measure was 
found to be the removal of the European 
force to the more sterile semi-desert plains 
at Deesa, in the north-west corner of the 

To show how little is known even in India 
regarding the spirituous drinks of the 
country, I may state that the. question has 
ere now been gravely entertained by persons 
high in authority, as to the practicability of 
rendering the people compulsorily sober, by 
cutting down the wild Date-trees, — as if 
these were the only source of alcoholic 
stimulus! 1 have before alluded to the 
Cannabis as affording a stimulating material. 
The use of the plant in its various forms — 
stalk, juice, and resin — is very widely 
diffused, and in many provinces (as in Scinde) 
a draught of the infusion forms a prelude to 
the daily dinner among the better classes. 
The stimulus has a champagne-like trans- 
ience, and is said to whet the appetite and 
improve the digestive ] towers. 

I should here mention that with East 
Indians, liquor, when taken, is most com- 
monly taken before food ; and not after 
eating, as with us. The continued use of 
the Cannabis, as practised by many at all 
periods of the day, speedily breaks down 
the system ; the lungs, generative power, 
&c, all yielding to its influence. The use 
of Nux vomica is confined to desperate 
debauchees, by whom it is had recourse to as 
a bracer-up of decayed corporeal faculties. 
It is taken to the extent of even two seeds 
per diem — these being softened and after- 
wards fried in ghee or butter ! 


How often, in this cold and bitter world, 
Is the warm heart thrown hack upon itself ! 
Cold, careless are we of one another's wants ; 
We wrap ourselves in sullen selfishness. 

L. E. L. 

There are, no doubt, many people in the 
world who live by finesse, and whose existence 
is maintained at the cost of others. With these 
we have nothing to do. The law, when it 
catches them, (too seldom, we admit,) pays them 

But there are also a class in society who live, 
thoughtlessly, at the cost of their tradespeople. 
AVe wish to whisper a little secret in the ear of 
such. If we argue in a tone of gentleness, what 
we say can give no offence. At this season people 
who enjoy the blessing of independence Lid adieu 
to care. Their country friends and acquaintance 
have open arms to receive them. They turn 
their backs upon London, and forget, for a time, 
all that is left behind. It were well just to cast 
one glance, before leaving, at the unsettled ac- 
counts of the London tradesman. It may be con- 



sidered " vulgar" to do this, we grant; but why 
not show yourself an oddity in the matter? We 
have done so ; and have never regretted it. 

It is a positive fact — and we speak on the very 
best authority — that the long credit taken by 
families for articles bearing very little profit 
indeed to the seller, keeps him and his sick family 
prisoners in town, while his customers, at his 
expense, are revelling in all the glories of sun and 
fresh air. 

We need not go into detail on this matter. 
We merely state the broad fact. Chance has 
recently thrown us in the way of hearing some 
very piteous complaints connected with this 
subject ; and we at once resolved to make certain 
comments, leaving those whom it may concern to 
" chew the cud of meditation." 

The withholding of what is " due" to a trades- 
man who deals fairly, and sells at the lowest 
ready-money prices, is a cruelty daily practised, 
and perhaps rarely reflected on. It is, moreover, 
a high moral offence ; for it cripples his means, 
and compels him to make sacrifices which mate- 
rially affect the interests both of himself and his 

It is a sad subject for reflection, that whilst we 
are enjoying under the canopy of Heaven all 
that is lovely, a warmhearted innocent man and 
his amiable family are, by our wanton cruelty, 
immured in a dungeon of filth and smoke. 

If this be not a '' sin of omission," then is our 
judgment not worth a straw. Good people ! read 
and reform. 


Wouldst thou be mine, 
I'd love thee with such love, thou canst not dream 
How wide, how full, how deep — whose gracious 

Should on thy pathway ever shine ! 
Wouldst thou be mine, — I'd be 
As father, mother, friend, to thee ; 
Thou never shouldst in thy new bliss, 
Their old, their dear affection miss ; 
For I would love thee better still, 
Soothe thee in sorrow, guard from ill, 
Would cherish thee each passing hour, 
As the sun cherishes the flower, 
Whose ceaseless, gladdening sunbeams play 
Around it through the livelong day. 

All this should be wouldst thou 
But be mine own, mine only love, 
And every changing day should prove 
How faithful my first vow. 

Wert thou but mine — Oh, could 

My voice some tone persuasive take, 

And in thy breast some answering passion wake, 
Then it were well — were good — 
All life were light ; but now 
My life is dark ; and thou, and thou — 
Is there no darkness in thy life ? 
No loneliness, when pain and grief 
Oppress thy tender, gentle heart ? 
Oouldst thou be mine, no sorrow's dart 
Should deeply wound, for I'd be there ; 
And Love the darkening clouds should clear, 
Or make the very darkness shine 
By Love's dear power, — wert thou but mine ! 


No council from our cruel wills can win us ; 
But ills once done, we bear our guilt within ! 

John Ford. 

My Dear Sir,— Your old friend Fino has 
called iny attention to an article entitled 
" Passages in the Life of a Dog," by Charlie, 
in the last number of OUR Journal. The 
weather is very warm ; too warm for my old 
dog to ransack his brains to find words to 
express his horror and indignation at this 
most painful recital : and seeing the old 
fellow not very cheery, I inquired what was 
the matter ? He then requested me to 
notice this article, in the precise way in which 
he would have done it himself. This I agreed 
to do, on the understanding that all which 
related to the canine species should be sug- 
gested by himself, and that I should let their 
masters and mistresses (be they peers or 
chimney-sweepers) know what " Old Bom- 
byx " thinks of them. 

I will commence, then, by offering our 
joint thanks to Mr. W. H. Kent for having 
brought this subject forward. I can only 
say that, if " Fino " or myself knew the name 
of the ignoble ladv who exchanged poor 
" Charlie's " mother for the fashionable Scotch 
terrier, it should appear in red letters three 
inches deep. Certain I am that her royal 
mistress never set her such an example ; and 
were I Queen of England, she should never 
come into my royal presence again 

This is a queer fancy, Mr. Editor ; and I 
really think I could give a ^shrewd guess as 
to who this " leader of the ton " is. Oh, if 
I were but certain ! Is it not horrible to 
think, how " Fashion " sways everything and 
everybody that is encompassed by the at- 
mosphere of the West End ? It deforms the 
human body ; it debases the human mind ; 
it metamorphoses the fair creatures of the 
Almighty into nondescript imps of Satan's 
handiwork. We read in the Sacred Volume, 
that all that God made was " very good ; " 
perfect — yet do we (so-called) Christians (!) 
dare to try and make it better. I ask em- 
phatically, what right has man to clip the 
ears or cut the tail of any harmless animal, 
formed originally by the Great Creator, and 
pronounced by Him to be very good ? It 
is because, whilst pretending to be worship- 
pers of God, we are in truth worshippers of 

I well recollect, when Fino was not as 
many months old as he is now years, a 
certain worthy Baronet, — who at that time 
occupied the very house at Cour, belonging 
to Mr. Gr. (mentioned by Fino in the num.- x 
ber of his autobiography for the present 
month, and which was the scene of the 
serio-comic adventure alluded to). I was 
strongly urged by this gentleman to take off 
three inches of Fino's tail ; and by his lady to 

give & fashionable appearance to his ears by 
a proper application of professional shears. 
The sapient Baronet declared that if I did 
so, he would become a vun-derful dog. The 
gentleman, who had a peculiar nasal twang, 
gave this observation all due effect ! I need 
scarce!} 7 tell you, Mr. Editor, how I treated 
the proposal ; nor need I tell you that Fino's 
caudal appendage and fine ears remain just 
as they were at the moment of his birth. No 
fashion for me. I am a lover of Nature ; and 
I firmly believe that what the Almighty has 
pronounced " very good," none but a 
simpleton would venture to alter. 

I very rarely visit your West End ; but I 
do sometimes. On such occasions, what do 
I see? "Why, one or more very elegant 
equipages stopping before the shops — or, to 
speak fashionably, " Magasins des Modes;" 
and two grinning footmen in gaudy livery, 
with silver-topped " Batons d'Office," opening 
the coronetted doors. Out step two or three 
thin, pale, cadaverous, wan, half-living ladies 
(wives or daughters of Peers) ; so pinched up 
that they are actually wriggling with agony. 
A dear little pet dog have they too. lie 
remains behind " pour monter la garde " over 
my lady's reticule ! 

We pretend to admire the human form 
divine, and yet do all we can to deform it. 
A quarter of a century ago, my excellent 
friend, Dr. Neil Amott, endeavored to con- 
vince the mothers of England of the horrible 
absurdity of running headlong after the tyrant 
Fashion, instead of following the path of 
simple nature (see Arnott's Elements of 
Physics, Medical Mechanics, — 1827, pages 
195 to 214, and various other parts, had I 
time to quote them). Still, the warning and 
advice of this modern Bacon remain un- 
heeded ; and we persist in mutilating the 
human form till it is scarcely distinguishable 
from that of some of the (mis-called) inferior 
animals. We are not content with mutilating 
every species of dog. We cannot even let a 
tree grow to its own natural size and shape. 
Its goodly branches are hacked and hewn 
until the lordly oak is transformed into a 

Tempora ! Mores ! The fashion of 
the present day, Mr. Editor, is not only mis- 
chievous, it is downright wicked. Moreover, 
it pervades every class. Look, on a Sunday 
morning, at this pair going (not to church, 
but) for a day's amusement. The man is 
equipped in an elegant pair of dove-colored 
pantaloons, strapped tightly down ; also a 
pair of thin patent shining leather boots, 
elegantly fastened with buttons ; a charming 
flowered-silk waistcoat, and a broad sky-blue 
satin cravat ; a fashionably- cut coat of dark 
blue; an elegant Bond Street hat ; and a 
neat little cane in his delicate hand, which is 
covered with nice white kid gloves — and, 

resting on his arm, his better half, in a lovely 
silk of violet ll changeant." Neat little shoes 
has she on ; a pretty watered silk mantilla ; 
a " chapeau," sweetly ornamented with 
flowers ; and a delicately-colored parasol, to 
protect her pretty face from the burning sun. 
Now who do you think it is, Mr. Editor ? 
Why it might be the twopenny-postman and 
his wife. And truly we must not be sur- 
prised, when the leaders of the " haut ton " 
employ, or rather waste, so much of their 
valuable time in endeavoring to discover the 
most absurd way of distorting that noble 
human form which the Almighty has pro- 
nounced " very good." When will our noble 
matrons and their beauteous offspring vie 
with each other in trying to look becoming ? 
When tv ill they learn that " least adorned is 
most adorned ? " When will they try and 
discover that simplicity, gentility, and 
nobility go hand in hand ? 

Again let us put the question : why is not 
a dog (that faithful companion of man) 
treated as a dog ought to be treated ? Why 
is his tail cut? Why are his poor ears 
clipped — his silky coat sheared? If our 
leaders of the " haut ton " do thus, what can 
you expect from the lower orders ? Our fine 
fashionables purchase a dog, because it is 
'' the fashion " to have a dog. They sell it, 
or exchange it, because Lady so-and-so has 
an animal of a different breed. This is per- 
haps discarded in a short time for a parrot ; 
and "poor Poll" perhaps is shifted on one 
side to make way for a Cochin China hen. 
As to expecting any attachment from these 
poor animals to their masters or mistresses, 
it is quite monstrous to thmk of such a thing. 

How different is a really faithful dog! I 
only move my foot, and Fino's eye is all 
awake to see what I want. I only look at a 
tree, three or four hundred yards off, and in 
half a moment Fino is on the wall surveying 
all around. I only look at the old dog, and 
he understands the meaning of every wrinkle 
on his master's forehead. Every thought is 
as quickly understood by him as though it 
were instantly conveyed to his own brain. 
This is not Fashion, Mr. Editor; this is 

I and my dog are friends. We perfectly 
comprehend one another. From my heart 
I pity poor Charlie, and so does Fino ; and 
if he knew the cold-hearted mistress that 
discarded his unfortunate mother, he would 
have her pretty locks cut so short that she 
should (as a punishment) be obliged to wear 
a wig the remainder of her days. 

When will our modern ladies understand 
that charming simplicity which is above all 
price? When will they learn to "look 
through Nature up to Nature's God," and 
leave the tyrant Fashion to the contempt 
and scorn which it merits ? When will they 



lift up the loathsome mask, and see the un- 
natural spectre it conceals ? When will they 
learn to believe that what the Almighty has 
pronounced very good — really is so? 

Tottenham, Sep, 15. Bombyx Atlas. 

[Some people mav think that a little exci- 
sion should have been practised with an 
article of this description, with a view to 
modify the sentiments of the writer, and so 
render them more palateable. There is 
however such a heartiness, such a freshness 
about it — and the worthy veteran writes in 
so wholesome a strain, that he shall be heard 
in his manly appeal to common sense and 
common humanity. He has lived long in 
the world, and can afford to speak his honest 
sentiments. We are proud to echo them.] 


Iris ! what art thou ? Break Creation's silence, 
Send forth a voice, thou " million-colored bow ;" 

Let fiction be no longer man's reliance ; 
More of thy nature he desires to know. 

Art thou a goddess, dwelling in Elysium, 
Whose power, so vast, no mortal dare deny 

The soul consigning to some unknown region, 
Sole arbitress of human destiny ? 

Art thou a mirror in the sun's pavilion, 
Tenfold reflecting all his glories bright, 

Glittering with purple, orange, and vermillion, — 
Or shinest thou with thy unaided light ? 

'Twas eventide ! The majestic bow was gilding 
The cloudy temple of the weeping sky ; 

Arch of Creation's wide palatial building, 
Most wondrous work of God's geometry ! 

Whilst thus I mused, methought the breeze came, 

A whisper soft from Iris' golden throne ; 
Like to the strains of seraph minstrel's singing, 

Or Heavenly harpings of iEolian tone. 

" Dost thou inquire why my illumined crescent 
Glcameth so brightly in the Heavens o'erhead ? 

Mortal, to cheer thine oft-beclouded present, 
And paint thy future, is my radiance shed 

" Upon thy path. Art thou a stricken spirit, 
With many cares and many woes oppressed? 

A struggling genius, born but to inherit, 
Like all thy fellows, mischance and unrest? 

" Art thou a mourner, weeping and heart-broken, 
Because thy best-loved treasures are no more ? — 

To each, to all, I am the faithful token, 
There yet is hope and happiness in store. 

" I am the mystic over-arching portal — 
Resplendent entrance to a better land; 

Where peace is perfect, happiness immortal, 
And faith to full fruition doth expand." 

Fainter and fainter, like the distant pealing 
Of silver chimes, th'iEolian whisper grew. 

It softly ceased ; no cloud was then concealing 
Heaven's firmament of clear ethereal blue. 
E. W. Carpenter. 


The extreme difficulty of coming to 
any settled decision, as to where "instinct" 
terminates and " reason " begins, sets all the 
world upon speculation. But after all, there 
is nothing like careful, pains-taking investi- 
gation. Those who narrowly watch the 
habits of the so-called "lower creation," 
and compare them with the habits of man- 
kind, will find that there is not only a dis- 
tinction, but a very great difference. We 
shall venture on this delicate inquiry more 
at large in due season, as promised. Mean- 
time, we shall bring into view all that 
strikes us as being worthy of note, in con- 
nection with the general question. 

Who is there, says a contemporary,* that 
has not admired the -wonderful precocity of 
chickens, ducks, partridges, and other little 
creatures whose wisdom on the very first 
clay of their existence appears to equal, if 
it does not surpass, many of the finest efforts 
of elaborate reason? The knowledge which 
they seem to possess of the world into 
which they have just been introduced, of 
the food which is agreeable to their palates 
and suitable to their digestive organs, their 
fear of danger, and their confidence of 
security in circumstances of which they can 
have no experience, the facility with which 
they use their legs and their beaks, walk and 
run, eat and drink — a facility which reason 
itself could not equal — are quite unin- 
telligible to man, who gains all his knowledge 
by labor and experience, and is but little 
indebted to instinct for anything. 

It has been observed by philosophers who 
have made comparative anatomy their study, 
that the more instinctive an animal is, the 
more ganglionic its nerves are. That is, its 
nerves, instead of arising from, and centering 
in a brain, as the principal nerves of the 
human body do, have their centres distri- 
buted in different parts of the body ; in fact, 
such animals may be said, properly speaking, 
not to be possessed of a brain at all, but 
merely of a series of ganglions, or nervous 
centres, arranged along the line of the spine, 
if they have one ; or the abdomen, if the 
spine be wanting. But animals possessed of 
a spine or backbone, being always of a higher 
order than those which are not so organised, 
have the brain more fully developed, and the 
nervous system more concentrated therein. 
This concentration of the nervous system 
in a brain increases their intelligence, but it 
diminishes their instinct. From this, it 
appears that reason is the result of the cen- 
tralisation of the nervous system ; and 
instinct, of its distribution and division. Jn 

* The " Family Herald." 



the lower and more instinctive animals, the 
brain is merely one of the ganglions, and 
supplies nerves to the eyes and mouth, and 
neighboring regions ; whilst, for the chest 
and abdomen, other ganglions are supplied, 
which furnish their own respective depart- 
ments with the requisite amount of nervous 
fibre. In articulated animals, which consist 
of a series of rings, like caterpillars, each 
ring has its own ganglion, or ganglia. This 
explains the fact of the tenacity with which 
these animals cling to life, and seem even 
to possess more lives than one, when cut 
into two or more parts. With them the 
brain is divided and distributed over the body, 
and the vitality accordingly ; and each 
division being a little independent brain, the 
animal constitutes a republic of lives, instead 
of one combined and united monarchy. 
The instinct of animals thus organised, is 
beyond the understanding of human reason; 
but their intellect is so small as to be inap- 
preciable or un discoverable There is there- 
fore, as M. Agassiz has well remarked, "a 
certain antagonism between instinct and 
intelligence ; so that instinct loses its force 
and peculiar character whenever intelligence 
becomes developed." 

The difficulty which reason experiences in 
understanding the movements of instinct, 
would be quite sufficient for sceptical philo- 
sophers to deny its existence, were the 
evidences not as palpable and undeniable as 
the thing itself is incomprehensible. There 
is a little spider called the water-spider, 
which actually constructs a diving-bell ; not 
only upon the most scientific principles, but 
in so mysterious and recondite a manner 
that natural philosophers have not even yet 
discovered the secret of its patent. This 
diving-bell is a little cylinder lined with silk, 
and fastened with threads on every side to 
the water-plants. It is open only below, so 
that the spider has to dive under the water 
before it can get into it. But when it is in, 
how can it live unless there be air ? It 
solves this difficulty in a manner that puzzles 
the philosophers. It carries down, round 
its body, a bubble of air, and lets it escape 
at the mouth of the bell; the air ascends to 
the top of the bell, and displaces a quantity 
of water equal to its own bulk. The spider 
goes on diving with these air-bubbles, until 
it has filled the diving-bell with air ; and, 
being now furnished with an atmosphere, 
and secure from all molestation from with- 
out, it rejoices in the seclusion of its own 
domestic retirement. 

How does this little creature discover this 
intricate and ingenious process of house- 
building, so far beyond the inventive powers 
of man himself? No doubt it is furnished 
with an apparatus for carrying this air- 
bubble, and with power to force itself under 

the water with air-bladders around it ; but 
how it comprehends the manner of using the 
apparatus, shaping the bell, fastening it, 
maidng its opening in the water, instead of 
in the air, and then filling it with an in- 
visible gas, is a problem difficult of solution. 
Kepler, the great astronomer, was so 
thoroughly perplexed with the problem of 
animal instinct, that he came to the con- 
clusion that animals were automatons, — 
mere machines, which seemed conscious of 
existence, but in reality were not ; and Addi- 
son, in his Spectator, almost maintains the 
supposition that " God is the soul of the 
brute creation." 

The industry and ingenuity of mason-bees, 
mining-bees, carpenter-bees, and wasps — 
upholsterer, carder, lapidary, and humble- 
bees, and social wasps — the carpentry of 
tree-hoppers and saw-flies — the ingenuity of 
leaf-rolling, nest-building, carpenter and 
tent-making, and stone-mason caterpillars— 
the extraordinary architecture of ants of 
every description — the galleries which they 
excavate in trees, the towers which they 
build, the government which they organise, 
their military establishments, their nurseries, 
and their " maiden ants," or females exclu- 
sively set apart for superintending the nurture 
and admonition of the young — the infinite 
variety of modes of industry exhibited by 
worms, moths, and spiders, and many other 
classes of articulated animals, are all so 
many illustrations of the wonders of instinct 
in contra-distinction to reason, or intelligence 
derived from experience. 

Man acquires his wisdom by labor and 
research, and by treasuring up the facts of 
a long series of observations transmitted by 
tradition, and written records, from father to 
son, and from generation to generation. 
But these instinctive animals are horn with 
the fully -developed zoisdom of their own 
respective species. They transmit no ex- 
perience from one generation to another ; 
they communicate no new discoveries to 
each other ; for they never make them. 
They have the power of adapting themselves 
to circumstances ; but in like circumstances 
they act alike, and one generation is the fac- 
simile of all the generations that preceded 
it. Whatever reason they have is, there- 
fore, inappreciably small ; and it is apparently 
only the result of an extraordinary effort of 
instinct in very difficult and exciting pre- 
dicaments. Their normal condition is that 
of routine — a law of perfect regularity and 
conservatism, in which reason becomes un- 
necessary. So that the circumstances that 
call forth the exercise of reason in instinctive 
animals, are circumstances of misfortune, 
in which their houses are demolished, their 
plans are thwarted, and the even tenor of 
their industry becomes impracticable. 



The happiness of an ant or a bee consists 
in the uninterrupted exercise of its instinc- 
tive faculties. No better fortune can befall 
it than such a constant flow of that orderly 
routine which characterises all its favorite 
movements, that nothing like what man is 
pleased to denominate rationality shall ever 
be required of it. The apparent develop- 
ment of reason in such a creature, is the 
result of an agony or an irresistible unpre- 
cedented attraction. Its laws are not made 
by itself, like those of man ; but made for 
it. It is a denizen of Nature ; its obedience 
to Nature's laws is voluntary and cheerful ; 
and it is only when the action of these laws 
is interrupted by violence or restraint, that 
it makes use of a seeming reason to 
re-establish it. The law of Nature once 
restored, the apparent reason ceases to 
manifest itself, and instinct once more 
resumes its unvarying and delightful routine. 

How very different man is from these 
instinctive animals ! Man is ever changing ; 
they are not. And yet there are men — 
races of men — who seem to personify the 
principle of instinct, in comparison with 
others who personify reason. We see the 
routine of instinct in Oriental and savage 
life — the reign of conservatism and pre- 
cedent, use and wont, custom and habit. 
Man is a little world, and has the type of 
everything in himself. The most instinc- 
tive of all organised human associations are 
those of China and Japan. There, men live 
together a life of unchanging mannerism ; 
indifferent to what is taking place in the 
world around them — as incurious of neigh- 
boring regions as a community of ants, and 
as exclusively engaged in their own limited 
nationality ; exercising their inventive genius 
only when difficulty or aggression and in- 
vasion compel them, and desiring nothing 
better than to be let alone to live a life of 
unvaried uniformity, established and un- 
changeable science, unimproved and unim- 
proveable art, irreversible customs, and 
unalterable habits. To develop the reason 
of such a race of men, and elevate them 
above their inferior or instinctive condition, 
you must treat them as you would a com- 
munity of ants when you want to be witness 
of their intellectual resources. They must 
be assailed by force or internal confusion — 
their law of order must be reversed — anarchy 
must reign for a season — that faculties, 
hitherto unemployed, may be brought into 

Whether the Chinese and Japanese — who 
are instinctive races of men — can ever be 
made to act upon the progressive principle, 
like the men of the West, is a question not 
easily answered. Like instinctive animals, 
their history reveals no progress made in the 
arts of life and association since the earliest 

antiquity. They always were, like the ants 
and the bees, just what they are ; they had 
no savage and barbarous ancestors, painted 
with ochre and dressed in skins of slaughtered 
animals, as we had. They were, so far as 
human testimony goes, created as they are ; 
inspired at first with the civilisation which 
they now possess ; and either unable or un- 
willing to change it. But whether this be 
strictly correct or not, in reference to 
Oriental nations, it is relatively so when 
compared with the Western, amongst whom 
the principle of reason has been developed 
in such a manner as to establish an incom- 
patible dissimilarity of character between 
the two hemispheres. 

It would, however, be foolish for us to 
maintain that all the wisdom lies with reason, 
and the ignorance or the folly with instinct. 
On the contrary, the wisdom of instinct is, 
in some respects, perfect, and therefore 
Divine ; whereas the wisdom of reason is 
merely human. To the bee and the ant, 
their normal condition is perfection. Such 
cannot be affirmed of any human political 
constitution ; for one of the most decisive 
proofs of imperfection in law is its mutability. 
A Divine law is unchangeable, because it is 
perfect ; human laws are changeable, because 
they are imperfect. 

Let us add, that if the question were 
raised,which of the two gifts are preferable — 
instinct or reason, it would be a hard matter 
to decide the point. The "lower order" 
of animals are certainly "happy;" and so 
far so good. But as " reason " does not 
make mankind by any means happy, as a 
matter of course, the question must remain 
open to further debate. 

He were a clever man indeed, who could 
set such a matter straight ! 


The Pressure of the Atmosphere is known 
to pervade all space. It removes water, and may 
be so compressed as to remove the more substan- 
tial bodies. Some have even asserted that, but 
for it, some parts of this globe would fly off into 
immeasurable space, and never return. Its 
effects on water, may be judged by the following 
experiment . — Take a tall drinking glass, at the 
edges whereof is fastened, by means of sealing- 
wax, a piece of string made tight, and having in 
its centre a lighted wax taper. This being 
balanced, so as to retain its position when the 
glass is turned upside down, place its mouth in a 
vessel filled with water ; as the taper consumes 
the air within the glass, its pressure is withdrawn ; 
but the pressure from without still continuing, 
will force part of the water up into the glass to 
supply the place of the air which the taper has 

It must be evident, that nothing but the pres- 
sure of the atmosphere could thus cause the water 
within the glass to rise above its own level. 





The purely artificial lives we 
English lead, are thrown into powerful 
contrast by what we notice abroad. Inno- 
cence of feeling, as well as action, in early 
age, is encouraged there ; whilst here, all 
that is natural and harmless is suppressed. 
The nurse takes her lesson from her mistress. 
The child is reared by art. Nature is 
always made to play "second fiddle" in the 
drama of life. Nobody will deny this. 

We have just been glancing over 
Mackay's ' ; Travels in the United States ; " 
and what we have therein read has elicited 
these few observations. Speaking of the 
American Maiden, the author says : — 

The whole course of her education is one 
habitual lesson of self-reliance. The world is not 
kept a sealed book to her until she is tolerably 
advanced in years, then to be suddenly thrown 
open to her in all its diversity of aspects. From 
the earliest age she begins to understand her 
position, and to test her own strength. She soon 
knows how to appreciate the world, both as to 
its pi'oprieties and its dangers. She knows how 
far she can go in any direction with safety, and 
how far she can let others proceed. She soon 
acquires a strength of character to which the 
young woman of Europe is a stranger, and can 
act for herself whilst the latter is yet in leading 
strings. All this would tend, were her entrance 
in society a little longer delayed, or were the 
sway which she acquires over it somewhat post- 
poned, to impart a much more sedate and serious 
character to American social intercourse than it 

These remarks are convincing to us, that 
our system of early education is greatly 
inferior to that of our neighbors. Our chil- 
dren's "minority" is regarded for the most 
part as merely probationary. They are in 
leading-strings when they ought to be able 
to teach and instruct others. Habit would 
soon render this easy. But fashion and 
custom overrule this wholesome system. 
The author continues : — 

The latitude of action here referred to, neces- 
sarily involves a free and habitual intercourse be- 
tween the sexes. This is permitted from the very 
earliest ages, and never ceases until the young 
girl has left her father's house for that of her 
husband. The freedom thus extended is one 
which is seldom abused in America ; and is more 
an essential feature than an accidental circum- 
stance in a young woman's education. Her male 
friend invites her to walk or ride with him ; and 
her compliance with the invitation is a matter 
solely dependent upon her own humor. He 
escorts her to the concert, or home from the party; 
the rest of the family finding their way thither 
or returning home as they may. Indeed, I have 
known the young ladies of the same family 
escorted by their male acquaintances in different 
vehicles to the same party, where they would 

make their appearances perhaps at different 

How very delightful would such an inno- 
cent and natural habit be, if observed 
amongst ourselves ! Any little act of com- 
mon attention or kindly greeting, paid to 
each other by friends and acquaintances, 
is by us regarded as de trop. We dare not 
be natural. If our heart leans towards any 
one whose attractions engage us, we must 
suppress the feeling. Friendly calls, cordial 
shaking of hands, an absence of ceremony, 
" natural" salutations, and hearty welcomes 
— these are voted as vulgar, heathenish, 
improper, dangerous ! 

What a world to live in ! Honest old 
Nature however has " converted" us, we are 
happy to say ; and we have converted 
others. When we shake hands, and when 
we salute, the heart goes with the offering. 
Innocent we feel, and we defy the world at 
our time of life to change our sentiments. 
And rely upon this, good folk — if we like 
you, no false modesty shall check the ex- 
pression of feeling ; if we love you, the same 
principle holds good. You shall have 
pleasing evidence of that fact. If our life 
were held upon other tenure than this, it 
would be burthensome. So long as our 
conscience be honest, and clear of offence 
towards God, the formula of "the world 
we live in" shall never make us unnatural. 

Dr. Mackay tells us further, that no ill- 
result whatever is observable from this 
natural and proper freedom of action. He 
adds : — 

Nor is this licence confined to cases in which 
the young men are recognised admirers of the 
young ladies — by no means. A friendly intimacy 
is all-sufficient for every purpose of social life. 
It justifies invitation on one side, and compliance 
on the other. * * * A young woman's 
education in England, teaches her that such con- 
duct is a disregard of the proprieties of her sex. 
If it were looked upon as such in America, it 
would not be followed. The difference arises 
from the different views taken, in the two hemis- 
pheres, by young women of their actual position. 
In America, it neither impairs the virtue, nor com- 
promises the dignity of the sex. It may be some- 
what inimical to that warmth of imagination and 
delicacy of character which, in Europe, is so much 
admired in the young woman; but it is produc- 
tive of impurity neither in thought nor conduct. 

It is not our intention to waste either 
time or space in pursuing tins subject. We 
are aware all argument is vain. Constructed 
as modern society is, and sacrificed as all 
natural feelings are to " expediency" from 
the very cradle, in these matters we must 
remain in statu quo. 

All we claim is, the privilege of a freedom 
of action. We have lived long enough for 
other people. Some have emptied our purse ; 



others have used our brain and unceasing 
activity— whereby they have gained their 
ends. In every case we have ' ; paid the 
piper." These are known and cruel facts. 

It is now time that we show an indepen- 
dence of action, however shallow may 
be our means of life. Whatever may be 
brought against us, it never will be said that 
we are not honest, sincere, a true friend, and 
purely natural. 

These qualifications will pull any man 
safely through — even such a world as ours ! 


Whilst we are hammering- away at 
the outrages upon Nature committed by our 
Englishwomen, en masse — (those, we mean, 
who move in good society), our contem- 
porary, the Quarterly Review, is cleverly 
following us up. He draws a nice distinction 
between beauty in a man, and beauty in a 
woman ; and proves that the former are 
" created" beautiful, although sleeping and 
waking their sole object is to deform their 

We quite agree with this position. A 
woman's countenance is beautiful — her busi- 
ness it is "to he beautiful." Therefore was 
she made. We make war upon the follies 
that prevent her being beautiful. Our con- 
temporary says : — 

The Loves and the Graces are felt to reside 
naturally in a woman's countenance, but to be 
quite out of place in a man's. His face is bound 
to be clean,* and maybe allowed to be pictu- 
resque — but it is a woman's business to be beau- 
tiful. Beauty of some kind is so much the attri- 
bute of the sex, that a woman can hardly be said 
to feel herself a woman who has not, at one time 
of her life at all events, felt herself to be fair. 

Beauty confers an education of its own, and 
that always a femiuine one. Most celebrated 
beauties have owed their highest charms to the 
refining education which their native ones have 
given them. It was the wisdom as well as the 
poetry of the age of chivalry, that it supposed all 
women to be beautiful, and treated them as such. 
A woman is not fully furnished for her part in life, 
whose heart has not occasionally swelled with the 
sense of possessing some natural abilities in the 
art of pleasing ; opening to her knowledge secrets 
of strength, wonderfully intended to balance her 
muscular, or, if you will, her general weakness. 
And herein we see, how truly this attribute be- 
longs to woman alone. Man does not need such a 
consciousness, and seldom has it without rendering 
himself most extremely ridiculous ; while to a 
woman it is one of the chief weapons in armoury, 
deprived of which she is comparatively powerless. 
And it is not nature which thus deprives her. 

* Hear this, ye advocates for making a man's 
face hairy as a savage, and doing away with the 
use of the razor and soap. A man's face must 
be "clean," pure, natural, wholesome. — Ed. K.J. 

Few, and solitary as sad, are the cases when 
a woman is stamped by nature as an outcast from 
her people, and such a one is understood not to 
enter the lists. But it is a perverse system of 
education which starts with the avowed principle 
of stifling nature. 

Here is the grand fault. The very first 
effort of a girl's parents is to stifle nature 
in their offspring. How then can " Woman" 
fulfil her mission — her mission " to be beau- 
tiful?" It is impossible; as we proved last 
month, whilst sitting in judgment upon the 
prevailing want of taste in the arrangement 
of ladies' hair. Most of our women — if not 
known to be such, would, if their heads only 
were seen, pass admirably for monkeys. 
There can be no two opinions about that ; 
and dressed as they are from the head 
downward, we could, were we ill-natured, 
make a further apt comparison. We seldom 
hear of " elopements" under the reigning 
fashion. A woman's head and face have 
lost all their wonted attraction. We fear 
their owners have read the " Comic English 
Grammar," and studded it too severely. It 
surely is recorded there, that " the masculine 
is more worthy than the feminine." 

Our contemporary next attacks the silly 
practice of those disgusting prudes (all 
prudes are disgusting), who instil the idea 
that it is wicked to show a consciousness of 
beauty; and who maintain that it is right to 
" mortify the flesh." Then speaketh he 
about plainness, as contra distinguished from 
beauty : — 

What can be more false or cruel than the com- 
mon plan of forcing upon a young girl the wither- 
ing conviction of her own plainness ? If this be 
only a foolish " sham" to counteract the supposed 
demoralising consciousness of beauty, the world 
will soon counteract that. But if the victim have 
really but a scanty supply of charms, it will, in 
addition to incalculable anguish of mind, only 
diminish those further still. To such a system 
alone can we ascribe an unhappy, anomalous 
style of a young woman, occasionally met with, 
who seems to have taken on herself the vows of 
voluntary ugliness — who neither eats enough to 
keep her complexion clear, nor smiles enough to 
set her pleasing muscles in action — who prides 
herself on a skinny parsimony of attire, which 
she calls neatness — thinks that alone respectable 
which is most unbecoming — is always thin, and 
seldom well, and passes through the society of 
the lovely, the graceful, and the happy, with the 
vanity that apes humility on her pale, dis- 
appointed countenance, as if to say — " Stand 
back ! I am uncomelier than thou ! " 

Yet even such self-disfiguring ladies as these 
instinctively obey that law of nature which bids 
a woman hide her face when she knows it not to 
be attractive. Even these cry into their pocket 
handkerchiefs and sneeze behind their hands ; not 
because they are ashamed of either emotion, but 
simply because such paroxysms of the counte- 
nance are too ugly for the light. 

Let us here add one word of our 



own, about " plain" people. We have 
usually found that people called plain, are 
intelligent ; and as frequently, amiable. Nay 
more — when we have been twitted for 
speaking of our " pets" in such high 
terms, we have learnt to regard them as 
" beautiful." So great is the power of 
amiability, which illumines the countenance 
of a " plain" person till it becomes radiant 
as a diamond ! 

We can afford to be laughed at for such 


We have given in another column 
some interesting particulars of the Spanish 
women. Let us now hear what Mr. Power, 
in his " Recollections of Three Years' Resi- 
dence in China," says of the females of 
that country : — 

The wife and daughter of the Chinese fanner 
walk about the world with such feet as it has 
pleased God to give them, and very pretty feet 
and ankles they generally are. In fact, whatever 
want of beauty of feature there may be among 
the Chinese women, no one can deny them the 
merit of remarkably beautiful feet, ankles, hands, 
and arms. Of the rest of the figure one can 
judge but indifferently, from their peculiar though 
not ungraceful costumes. 

In the country villages the young girls and 
matrons may be seen at their doors, or grouped 
together beneath the trees, or in the yard 
attached to the house, engaged in household or 
farm occupation ; laughing the while in merry 
chorus to their work. I have often, from the 
back of my horse, looked over the low walls at 
such a group, but the result was rarely compli- 
mentary ; for on some coy damsel suddenly 
catching sight of my Saxon face, she would 
scream an alarm to the rest, who retreated to the 
house with a general screech. On reaching the 
threshold, however, they would generally stop to 
giggle at the object of their fears, on finding him 
not pursuing with savage intent ; or sometimes 
the respectable bearded patriarch would take them 
by the shoulders, and in spite of their affected 
resistance, push them all out again into the yard, 
calling jokingly to me at the same time, in some 
incomprehensible gibberish probably, " to eat 
them up." I natter myself, however, that I 
was not sufficiently frightful to alarm them very 
much; with a stout wall between, and the whole 
village within call. 

Far different, however, was the case when " the 
foreign devil" happened to come upon one soli- 
tary matron, pursuing her way from one village 
or farm to the other. Her fears were really ter- 
rible ; and she fled as fast as her legs could carry 
her. If, however, the unprotected female hap- 
pened to be of the small-footed kind, she stag- 
gered off with the aid of her bamboo, till an un- 
lucky trip would usually leave her sprawling on 
the path, or not impossibly in the mud and water 
of a paddy-field. To rush to her assistance was 
the natural impulse ; but the approach of the 

monster was a signal for the most tremendous 
shrieking, and one could only persevere at the 
risk of throwing the distressed matron into 
hysterics. It was a disagreeable dilemma, but it 
invariably ended in my walking on and leaving 
the lady to scramble out of the mud in her own 
way. If I had a Chinese attendant with me, I 
usually sent him on to conduct any fair one I 
might meet into a secure bypath, or to assure her 
of the harmlessness of my general character and 

It is " well" that the Chinese women have 
11 remarkably beautiful feet, ankles, hands, 
and arms." Their snub-noses and copper 
faces are not exactly what one could fall in 
love with. 

We believe that only one daughter in 
every family has " pinched-up" feet. That 
is an honor which is " expensive." The 
other members run nimbly about to discharge 
their needful domestic duties. 

There can be nothing to admire in little 
feet — made little by the barbarous screw. 
The others, however, may do " nicely." 


The moonlight fell like pity o'er the walls 
And broken arches, which the conqueror, Time, 
Had rode unto destruction ; the grey moss, 
A silver cloak, hung lightly o'er the ruins ; 
And nothing came upon my soul but soft 
Sad images. And this was once a palace, 
Where the rich viol answered to the lute, 
And maidens flung the flowers from their hair, 
Till the halls swam with perfume : here the dance 
Kept time with light harps, and yet lighter feet ; 
And here the beautiful Mary kept her court, 
Where sighs and smiles made her regality, 
And dreamed not of the long and many years 
When the heart was to waste itself away 
In hope, whose anxiousness was as a curse : 
Here, royal in her beauty and her power, 
The prison and the scaffold, could they be 
But things whose very name was not for her ? 
And this now fallen sanctuary, how oft 
Have hymns and incense made it holiness ! 
How oft, perhaps, at the low midnight hour, 
Its once fair mistress may have stolen to pour 
At its pure altar, thoughts which have no vent 
But deep and silent prayer ; when the heart finds 
That it may not suffice unto itself, 
But seeks communion with that other state, 
Whose mystery to it is as a shroud 
In which it may conceal its strife of thought 
And find repose. * * * * 

* * * But it is utterly changed : 

No incense rises, save some chance wild-flower 
Breathes grateful to the air ; no hymn is heard, 
No sound but the bat's melancholy wings ; 
And all is desolate and solitude. 
And thus it is with links of destiny 
Clay fastens on with gold, and none may tell 
What the chain's next unravelling will be. 
Alas the mockeries in which Fate delights ! 
Alas for time ! — still more, — alas for change ! 

L. E. L. 




Come, let us mount on Contemplation's wings, 
And mark the " causes" and the " ends" of things. 


my dear Sir, do appear to 
be what you describe them, — 
indifferent to the why and 
because of what is daily pas- 
sing under their observation. 
They seldom let their inqui- 
ries go beneath the surface ; 
nor do they care to trouble themselves about 
causes and effects. This is a great neglect 
of the talent which has been given them to 
trade withal. 

These remarks, corroborative of your own 
recently- expressed opinions, are suggested 
by a perusal of " Le Monde des Oiseaux," 
by A. Toussenel. I have been much inter- 
ested by what I there find recorded of the 
Swan- \Vith your permission, I will transfer 
his comments, in an English dress — not the 
unbecoming dress, I hope, of which you so 
loudly and justly complain 1 — to the columns 
of Our own Journal ; and we shall find 
that this majestic animal, instead of being 
made simply to be looked at, was created for 
a much nobler end- 

The history of animals will one day men- 
tion, to the disgrace of the era, that amongst 
all birds, the swan only (in France) was of 
use to man; and further, that this solitary 
auxiliary was of use to him without his even 
suspecting it. The M Dictionary of Natural 
History," a work very recently published, 
has dared to attack Buffon, and many other- 
poets of antiquity and of modern times, for 
their admiration of the swan, — a creature, it 
is said, suitable for the decoration of orna- 
mental water, but from which nothing more 
is to be expected. I acknowledge the 
ancients have gone to too great a length in 
their infatuation, when they endowed him 
with a melodious voice to sing his death-song, 
— a belief which Martial has so beautifully 
expressed in the distich, 

" Nulla defecta modulatur cai*mina lingua 
Cantator Cycnus ipse sui." 

But, for the tranquillity of my conscience, 
I had rather have sinned through adulation 
and lavish praise, like the Greeks, than 
through injustice and illiberality, like the 
authors of the above-mentioned work. It is 
there said, the swan is only fit to decorate 
ornamental water ; which is not the fact. The 
swan is an intelligent bird, and perfectly 
understands how to be at once beautiful and 
useful. Were his merits limited to the deco- 
ration of public gardens, I should still highly 
esteem him ; but he does more than this, and 
he has a sacred right to the gratitude of man. 

The mission of the swan is, to destroy every 
focus of contagious infection produced by 
stagnant waters. The swan is the most for- 
midable enemy of the yellow fever ; it is his 
ambition to annihilate it. He knows that 
this fearful pestilence, which is exactly the 
same as that in our marshes — whether in 
France or Algiers, is caused by the decom- 
position of the weeds which impede the flow 
of the water, whether decorative, for the 
purposes of irrigation, or in the fossees of our 
citadels. He has no other occupation or 
anxiety than to cut down these poisonous 
weeds. Put a sufficient number of swans in 
stagnant waters where aquatic plants abound ; 
and in a few months, they will have cleared 
all away, and transformed the most fetid, the 
muddiest waters, and those most obstructed 
by deleterious vegetation, into limpid mirrors. 
The large bason of the Tuileries, and that 
of the Luxembourg, are both inhabited by a 
pair of swans ; and the water-weed (lentille 
cVeau) has no time to spread its green man- 
tle over the motionless surface of their 
waters. But in the garden of the Palais 
National, where the piece of water is much 
smaller, and is constantly agitated by the 
action of the waterfall (an agitation which 
must be greatly against the formation of any 
herbaceous growth), aquatic vegetation has 
nevertheless succeeded in establishing itself 
in disfiguring the fountain. 

A creature that would destroy the yellow 
fever, and prevent the pestilential exhalations 
of all the marshes in the world; a creature 
that visibly metamorphoses fetid slime into 
drinkable water — is a creature which these 
unfortunate savans call a useless animal, fit 
only to please the eye on a public promenade. 

There is a very easy method of avoiding 
any error in natural history ; but it is quite 
in vain for me to tell the secret (even 
although gratuitously) to all the world. No 
one will employ it. This method consists in 
never saying aught about any animal, with- 
out having previously ascertained for what 
use it was created, and for what reason it 
has such and such peculiarities assigned to 
it ; for every creature is a Sphynx which 
presents its enigma to be guessed, and the 
true savant is the (Edipus who best deci- 
phers it. But superficial minds find it more 
convenient to laugh at the " dabblers" in 
enigmas, than to heat their own brain by 
endeavoring, like the " dabblers," to discover 
their hidden meaning; and such are discou- 
raged at the first failure. The " naturalist- 
proper" (I owe my thanks to your corres- 
pondent, Bombyx Atlas, for the term,which I 
think exactly gives my author's meaning in 
the words " Zoologiste officiel") fails into the 
error of imitating the practical economist ; 
who will very readily explain " how wealth 
is produced," but who dares not say " why 

Tor.. IV.— 10. 



it is sometimes so unequally bestowed." The 
" naturalist-proper" will admit that the tail 
of the stork is decorated with thirty feathers, 
while that of the eagle and of the falcon have 
twelve, and that of the woodpecker only ten; 
but he does not like to be urged further, nor 
to be questioned as to the causes of this 
unequal division. " It is a fact," he says ; 
" and the only duty of Science is to state 

It is also a fact, that the swan has twenty- 
three vertebrae in the neck; a much greater 
proportion than any other feathered creature. 
But this explanation does not suffice me. I 
ask the reason of the extraordinary number. 
If the authors alluded to had conceived the 
excellent idea of putting to themselves the 
same question, instead of servilely mention- 
ing the bare fact, it is probable they would 
instantly have discovered the enigma of the 

The tame swan, which I am describing, is 
a magnificent white bird ; without any admix- 
ture of black, excepting only the eyes, beak, 
and feet. He weighs about 261bs.* His 
wings cover a space exceeding six feet ; f 
they are concave like those of the stork ; and 
appear to inflate with the breeze, like the 
sails of a ship. His long undulating neck, 
the sovereign type of grace, bends in a ser- 
pentine curve ; even more flexible and plea- 
sing than that of the Arab. His well pro • 
portioned beak unites all the requisites of 
elegance, dexterity, and strength. The man- 
dibles are armed with sharp serratures, and 
the upper one is terminated by a sort of nail, 
horny and solid. The swan, strictly speak- 
ing, does not live upon fish, nor does he 
plunge like the duck. This might naturally 
have induced the savans to reflect, that this 
long neck, provided with a sharp-edged beak, 
could only have been given to the swan as 
an instrument with which to extirpate the 
bulbs and roots of marine vegetables. And 
once in possession of this luminous fact — 
which confers upon the swan the high func- 
tions of" preserver against infection," " de- 
stroyer of frogs," and " preventive of 
effluvia" — the said naturalists would necessa- 
rily have abstained from the rash assertion 
that the swan was " only pleasing to the 

In this pre-eminently graceful creature, 
all leans towards the side of " beauty;" and 
the swan, conscious of his ornamental and 
hygeienic mission, adds to nature as much as 
he can by art. He is " the" coquet among 
birds ; not excepting the peacock and the 
humming bird. He is longer at his toilette 
than a cat ; he admires himself in the crystal 
wave like the beautiful Narcissus. If I 
wished to calumniate the swan, I would not 

* 25 lbs. French. f 2 Metres. 

say he was only useful to decorate a public 
garden, but that he liked pure waters only 
because such best reflected his form. Ad • 
mitting that an exaggerated self-love, and 
the desire of seeing the unspotted whiteness 
of his plumage reflected in the wave, are the 
only motives which induce the swan to 
destroy noxious weeds and croaking reptiles, 
— the air is no longer poisoned with tainted 
miasma ; the frog does not disturb my rest. 
That is all I know ; and it is enough to have 
the right of saying — " Honor to the swan, 
which has given me pure air, and quiet 

But if I am not a sceptic ; if I am an 
analogist; if I am convinced that every 
animal symbolises a human type, — how the 
scene expands to my intellectual vision ! 
The swan will then be no longer a mere 
creature with palmated feet, which by chance 
prefers clear waters, as the duck prefers 
muddy ones. He will be at once trans- 
formed into the purifier of the waters, and 
the preserver of public health. The ancients 
guessed nearly as much, when they conse- 
crated this bird to Apollo, the god of the fine 
arts, and to Venus the goddess of beauty ; 
that is, to the two most charming creations 
of the Olympus. Many instances might be 
quoted, demonstrating the degree of regard 
and esteem which has everywhere been felt 
for this majestic bird, the noblest of all 
water birds. I have passed many hours in 
admiring him — more particularly in his func- 
tions as father of a family, preceding the 
convoy of his numerous young ones ; his 
wings lovingly spread to the zephyr ; tracing 
a long wake on the surface of the water ; 
glancing keenly around ; his head high, his 
eye glowing, and his beak threatening ; while 
the mother protects the rear-guard in an 
attitude no less imposingly-proud — the 
young meantime playing between them with 
all the gaiety and fearlessness peculiar to 
their age. 

Whilst gazing on such a scene, what gra- 
titude do I not feel for the many mercies 
shown to me ; and for the charm lavished 
upon this spectacle which is mine for 
nothing ! What gratitude, for having con- 
ferred upon me in my poverty, the enjoy- 
ment of so many delights unknown to the 
rich! — to the poor rich,who have never given 
praise to Providence for aught but having 
directed the course of large rivers through 
large cities ! 

The swan, gliding upon the waves without 
the eye being able to discern the movement 
which impels him, is the perfect image of a 
ship — one of the most magnificent concep- 
tions of human industry. Nautical science 
will only have reached perfection, when the 
system of the swan's sails shall be adapted 
to the ship ; and when a paddle capable of 



contracting itself like the swan's foot, and 
acquiring - fresh impetus by again expanding, 
shall replace the wheel of the steam-boat. 
The swan is justly considered as the model 
of fathers ; his fidelity perhaps is not live- 
long, but his paternal tenderness has a claim 
to be quoted as without a parallel. He 
never considers the number or the strength 
of the enemies which threaten the safety of 
his family. He rushes upon them furiously, 
and attacks with equal ferocity, man, dog, or 
horse. He awaits the eagle without flinch- 
ing ; his beak pointing, and set like a spring. 
Striking and thrusting, both, he soon stuns 
his adversary, and drives him discomfited 

He does not hide bis nest, being ready to 
defend it ; and the fox, so cunning, so greedy 
after young birds, dares not even approach 
his progeny. Unfortunately, his caprices 
expose him to desperate conflicts. A fight 
between swans is almost always a mortal 
combat ; but the quarrel is not decided in a 
day. These creatures are tenacious of life. 
Strength and rage (alone) do not enable them 
to destroy each other. A considerable 
degree of skill, and of wrestling skill, is also 
required. The death-stroke consists in 
twisting the enemy's neck in his vertebras ; 
and in holding it bent and sunk under water 
until the victim expires from suffocation. (t I 
embrace my rival, but it is to strangle him," 
say the swans; unconsciously turning into a 
parody the celebrated line of Nero, 

It was difficult not to lend to what was 
already so rich. On this account, the 
Greeks, who were naturally very generous, 
assigned to the swan a tender and melan- 
choly voice ; more plaintive and flute-like 
than that of the nightingale. The Greek 
fable was excusable, as proceeding from their 
love of ideal perfection. To extenuate it, 
they said the melodious voice with which 
they had gifted the swan, was heard but once 
during the life of the bird — at the hour pre- 
ceding his death. The fable succeeded, be- 
cause it was as pretty as are all Greek fables ; 
but now we have had the advantage of it, I 
see no longer any use in concealing the truth. 

The swan has not a more melodious voice 
than the nightingale. He clatters like the 
stork, and alas ! he gabbles like the goose, his 
nearest relative. Nor is the hour in which 
he makes the most noise, that preceding his 
death; but rather, that which follows the 
hatching of his young. The ancients had 
however already successfully refuted the 
fable. Pythagoras, who was a geometrician, 
naturally admitted the version of the death- 
song i he did even more. He proved, that 
its sweetness was to be attributed to the 
length of the circuit which the vital spark 
of the bird had to make, ere it could escape 
from his body through his long neck ! But 

Pliny successfully disputed the opinion of 
the geometrician ; and the ingenious explana- 
tion relative to the influence of the dimen- 
sions of the tracheal artery of the swan, upon 
the sweetness of his vocal powers, necessarily 
fell before the fact that he did not possess 
any ! Previous to Pliny, Aristotle had made 
a praiseworthy concession to truth. He still 
maintained that the swans of the African sea 
sang agreeably; but he also affirmed that the 
exercise was in no way injurious to their 
health, and that it did not foretell their 

Three plagues exist in the world, which 
have committed their ravages with impunity 
for an immense length of time, — the cholera, 
or black plague, originating in India ; the 
plague strictly so called, originating in 
Egypt ; the yellow-fever, originating in 

A good police regulation respecting burials 
would remedy the two first, in six months. 
The third, undeniably the most difficult to 
subdue, would not hold out ten years against 
the judiciously-combined effects of the sluice 
(eeluse de chasse), and — the Swan. 





There is a path which often lies 
Through dangers and perplexities, 

Avoided by the many ; 
And yet for those who would possess 
The realms of endless happiness, 

The nearest path of any. 

My study 'tis in simple rhyme, 
As others in a strain sublime, 

To deck with love and beauty 
This " narrow path," that to the skies 
In gradual ascent doth rise — 

The path of Christian Duty. 

Another path may soon be found, 

With sweet, but fading flow'rets crown'd, 

To lure us from the light : 
This path is laid in fairy lands, 
And Pleasure at the entrance stands 

To beckon and invite. 

So well the syren plays her part, 
Luring the unsuspecting heart 

To its untimely doom, — 
That thousands of the young and gay, 
Dazzled by the deceptive ray, 

Her votaries become, 

A warning to my readers all, 
Before she lets the curtain fall, 

The moral Muse would give, — 
Those who will duty's path forsake, 
For interest, or for pleasure's sake, 

In peace shall never live ! 




The Naturalist, No. 31. Groombridge 

& Sons. 

Our much-esteemed contemporary again 
comes forth with a goodly array of pleasing 
facts in Natural History. 

We have a very interesting article, by 
James Davies, Esq., on the peculiarly-formed 
Femur of a Fox ; Letters of an Ornithologist ; 
a Paper on British Evergreens, by our old 
friend J. M'Intosh, Esq.; Gleanings by the 
Way, &c, &c, in addition to the usual 
Varieties and Miscellanies. 

From this mass of delightful reading, we 
have been trying to pick and choose some fair 
specimen. Our election has fallen on a racy 
paper, detailing some pretty facts in con- 
nection with our oldest friend the stickle- 
back, of whom, in a former number, we dis- 
coursed at considerable length. This is 
contributed by Mr. Clement Jackson, of 
East Looe ; and shows the doings of our 
hero when confined to a very small space of 
water. The Stickleback (Gasterostevs Acu- 
leatus) is not to be spoken of disrespectfully. 
He is a pattern for all the finny tribe. But 
let us listen to his exploits : — ■ 

On the 12th of April, a fish glass, of seven 
inches diameter and depth, was furnished with 
some gravelly mud, and filled nearly to the top 
with spring water. A plant of Water Star wort 
(Callitriche verna), was fixed by placing a couple 
of spar-stones on the roots to steady it, whilst the 
leaves floated on the surface, and a number of 
Water Snails (Limned stagnalis, and Ancylus 
jluviatilis), were added to devour decayed leaves, 
&c, and keep the water clear. 

The muddy particles having subsided, and left 
the water very clear, half-a-dozen Sticklebacks 
were introduced about the 18th ; and a male im- 
mediately took possession, attacking and driving 
the others sharply about. These were taken out 
successively as attacked, until only one, a large 
female, to which he did not exhibit much ani- 
mosity, remained ; and in the course of an hour 
or two afterwards I saw him carrying a long 
fibre in his mouth, and actively commence build- 
ing with such scanty materials as the place 
afforded. Having liberally supplied him with 
skeleton leaves, fibrous roots, &c, he took them 
readily as soon as dropped into the water ; seizing 
a fibre, blowing it out of his mouth, and atten- 
tively watching its fall to test its gravity and fitness 
for his work ; if heavy enough, it was immedi- 
ately recovered, and added to the building against 
the stone at the bottom ; if too light, it was re- 
jected, and another tried; he every now and then 
adding a stone to secure the frail fabric, and oc- 
casionally blowing a mouthful of gravelly mud 
over it, boring vigorously into the accumulating 
mass with his head to form the nest, and keep the 
opening clear. 

This first nest did not prove satisfactory ; for a 
few days afterwards he commenced an active 
removal, carrying all his materials to the other 

side of the stone, where he soon completed a new 
one, apparently to the satisfaction of both, as he 
brought down the female (who had nothing to do 
with the work, but had remained quietly at the 
surface, resting amongst the branches), apparently 
to show that the structure was complete, and ready 
for use. 

She spawned on the 24th, then lay listlessly 
at the bottom amongst the roots, and in a few 
days died — either from injuries in capture or from 
being worried by her pugnacious partner, whom I 
latterly observed driving her smartly about. 

Having now undisputed possession of the glass, 
he mounted guard, hovering above the nest, and 
often drew his body slowly over and in contact 
with it ; every now and then, at short intervals, 
placing himself directly in a line with the hole, he 
rapidly vibrated the fins and tail, apparently to 
pass a current of water through it ; and did an 
unfortunate snail at any time trespass upon it, he 
immediately pounced upon and threw it aside. 
He merely quitted his post to feed, eagerly taking 
small portions of earthworms from the finger, and 
when satisfied, blowing the last portion from his 
mouth and catching it again, as if in play; but 
anything applied to the outside of the glass raised 
his choler and spines in a moment. 

Commiserating his solitary condition, I one day 
put in three more, by way of company ; but he 
had no idea of such intrusion, and having a home 
to defend, showed a most determined spirit, 
presently putting the late quiet little pond into a 
complete turmoil — rushing immediately on these 
unfortunate intruders on his domain, he chased 
them rapidly round the glass, biting fiercely at 
their tails, and, despite all their endeavors to 
hide amongst the plant, or in the mud, &c, at the 
bottom, they were speedily turned out, worried 
rapidly and repeatedly round, and would doubt- 
less have been killed, if I had not quickly re- 
moved them with a silver tablespoon, which was 
also viciously attacked by this irritated and de- 
termined defender of his invaded rights. On 
placing the bottle with the removed fish against 
the glass, he immediately rushed at them ; and I 
observed his formidable lateral spines repeatedly 
projected. Of course after this exhibition of his 
pugnacity, he was left to manage things his own 
way, and continued assiduously to attend the nest, 
frequently and rapidly vibrating before it ; and on 
the 16th of May, the young fry were first observed 
swimming thickly about the nest, so small and 
transparent as easily to be overlooked. For the 
first few days he guarded them jealously, driving 
back stragglers to the nest ; and occasionally 
seizing one, perhaps more obstreperous than his 
fellows, in his mouth, he took it back, and blew 
it out amongst the others — every now and then 
swimming round the glass, as if to ascertain that 
all was safe. The young, about fifty in number, 
gradually ascended, and in a few days scattered 
about at the surface and amongst the plant with- 
out interference. 

On the 20th of May, the water, which had not 
been meddled with, except to fill up the loss 
caused by evaporation, and had remained quite 
clear, became all at once so clouded, and with a 
greasy scum on the surface, that the fish were 
barely discernible ; and fearing I should lose 
them, about a quart was dipped out, and refilled 



with fresh. The cause T could not ascertain, pos- 
sibly some discharge from the old fish, and from 
the number of young being too great for the con- 
fined space. The plant has grown freely ; and 
being confined to one side by the stone, forms a 
good canopy over the fish ; but its leaves are very 
much eaten by the molluscs, which swim freely 
about at the surface, shell downwards, with the 
foot hollowed, and guided by an undulating 
motion of its edges, exhibiting a very curious 
specimen of locomotion. They crawl along the 
under surface of the floating leaves, and are so 
nearly balanced in the water, that I have observed 
one turning back on the end of a long slender 
fibre, which scarcely bent under its weight ; and 
at the bottom and sides they crawl about like the 
common snail. The Ancylus Fluvlatilis also 
shifts its position freely, adhering indifferently 
either to the glass sides, or to the stones at the 
bottom. They deposit masses of spawn attached 
to the leaves, which are probably devoured by the 
fish soon after being hatched, as comparatively 
very few young snails are observed ; and I have 
often seen the old fish take some minute object 
from the leaves, and from the mud at the bottom. 

Among the Miscellaneous Notices, are two 
contributions fiom the pen of G. R. Twinn, 
Esq., Bawburgh Hill, near Norwich. The 
first astounds us ; for he tells us that he has 
heard the Blue Tit (Parus cwruleus) sing so 
like a robin, that the difference was only- 
distinguishable by seeing the vocalist. We 
have kept company with "Master Tom" 
from boyhood, and this is the first time we 
ever heard of his newly-acquired powers. 
Let us record the curiosity pro bono : — 

During the continuance of the snow in February 
and March, I had quite a family of birds that 
daily visited my window for food, which was as 
regularly furnished as they were punctual in 
coming for it. Blackbirds, Thrushes, Robins, 
Sparrows, and Tits all fed in peace and joy ; the 
Robins only would enter and perch on our break- 
fast-table. The others, however, were very tame ; 
and from a Blackbird we had many a note of 
thanks ; but whilst the Robins gladly and merrily 
sang in our warm study, the Blue Tit replied ; 
and had I not distinctly seen and heard the 
songster, I should have stated it was a Robin 
singing. But I can add further testimony. We 
at present have a Blue Tit's nest in our garden in 
a Laurestinus, and regularly the male Tit sits, 
after his feeding the brood, on the top of the 
shrub, and sings away very gaily. I think you 
will observe that the notes of this bird are much 
harsher and shorter than those of the Robin, and 
are devoid of that gradual cadence with which the 
Redbreast often ends his lays, or rather sinks in 
melody^ that he may, like the Nightingale, break 
out in richer music. 

The second extract, from the same hand, 
has reference to the nesting of the Nuthatch; 
a lovely fellow, whose praises we have often 
before sung. We saw a nest of these pretty 
creatures in a hollow tree, during a recent 
visit in Hampshire ; and we were quite charmed 
to watch the affectionate movements of the 

parents whilst sedulously tending their infant 
brood. Secure and happy, their fearless 
independence and indifference to the curiosity 
of lookers-on were ridiculously diverting. 
Some comments of ours on their little per- 
formances, will be found at p. 344, Vol. III. 
We talked to them ; and got such a funny, 
squeaking reply ! Did their papa and mamma 
resent this prying curiosity on our part ? 
Oh, no ! They sat by the while, and seemed 
to take it as a personal honor ! But let us 
listen to Mr. T.'s account of the nesting of 
the Nuthatch (Sitta Europoza). We see that 
he too, like most of us lovers of birds, has 
suffered by those diabolical fiends, the bird- 
trappers. Of all robbers, these are the most 
atrocious : — 

In a small but deep hollow of a shattered tree, 
about twenty feet from the ground, a pair of these 
birds selected their retreat, and had intended 
rearing a brood, had not my robbery prevented 
them. I had a very fine opportunity of observing 
their peculiar mode of nesting. At the bottom of 
the hole, about thirty small pieces of bark, (from 
the beech tree), were carelessly laid, and, without 
any other aid to promote heat and assist the bird 
in the period of incubation, this was the sole 
means, apparently, to be employed. An egg was 
deposited on them, a layer of bark over it, and so 
the work proceeded regularly, till the seventh egg 
was deposited, and then over all the bird began 
carefully to sit, and heat the pile of bark. 1 ob- 
served no variation in the daily appearance of the 
nest, to warrant any supposiiion that the eggs in 
regularity were removed from top to bottom, nor 
can I well fancy such a process without damage 
to the eggs in such a nest, formed so indifferently, 
and without any soft materials.. Now I have no 
doubt, from the depth of this hole, that the birds 
had with their "hammer-bills " bored to a depth 
(exceeding the natural) of nearly nine inches ; and 
at the base of the tree many — very many — chips 
of wood were readily discernible. I have for several 
mornings scarcely missed observing, from four 
o'clock till long after five, a pair seated on a 
poplar tree ; and as I read in my room, or ramble 
round our field, I hear their hammering, as though 
to them it were a merriment and a joy. They 
are called " Creepers " here ; and very active 
birds they are in scouring trees for insects, and 
digging for vermin. I have met with instances 
of the nests of these birds in the side of a trunk 
of a tree, and where the bark and wood have, on 
removal, left white traces that might betray 
their locality, I have seen a thin coating of dirt 
brushed over to imitate the natural appearance of 
the bark, and delude the eye. The under plu- 
mage of these birds beneath the wings is, in many 
specimens, very rich — of a deep claret-color. I 
have never met with eggs entirely white. On 
the contrary, all have an abundance of red spots 
on a clear white ground ; and not small ones 
neither, but certainly not to be called blotches. 

The Story of Mont Blanc. By Albert 
Smith. Bogue. 

If any one were asked, u Have you been 
to see Albert Smith's popular entertain- 



ment ? " the answer would either be in the 
affirmative, or there would be an immediate 
resolution formed — to go and do what ought to 
have been done long ago. All the world, of 
course, will go and see Mont Blanc, and 
— Albert Smith ; the "two inseparables." 

But as there may, perchance, be some 
few among our readers who are prevented 
the pleasure we speak of, let such hear the 
account of what they cannot see. We will 
be as concise as possible. And first for the 
grand start. Albert Smith loa. — 

About half-past seven we started ; and as we 
left the inn, and traversed the narrow ill-paved 
streets of Chamouni towards the bridge, I believe 
we formed the largest caravan that had ever 
gone off together. Each of us had four guides, 
making twenty in all ; and the porters and 
volunteers I may reckon at another score ; 
besides which, there was a rabble rout of friends, 
and relations, and sweethearts, and boys, some of 
whom came a considerable distance with us. 
I had a mnle waiting for me at the bridle-road 
that runs through the fields towards the dirty 
little village of Les Pelerins — for I wished to keep 
myself as fresh as I could for the real work. I 
do not think I gained anything by this, for the 
brute was exceedingly troublesome to manage up 
the rude steep path and amongst the trees. I 
expect my active young companions had the best 
of it on their own good legs. Dressed, at present, 
in light boating attire, they were types of fellows 
in first-rate fibrous muscular condition ; and their 
sunny good temper, never once clouded during 
the journey, made everything bright and cheering. 

Let us follow our leader in his description 
of the bivouac on the Grand Mulets : — 

As soon as we had arranged our packs and 
bundles we began to change our clothes, which 
were tolerably well wet through with trudging 
and tumbling about among the snow ; and cutting 
a number of pegs, we strewed our garments about 
the crannies of the rocks to dry. I put on two 
shirts, two pairs of lamb's-wool socks, a thick 
pair of Scotch plaid trousers, a "Templar" 
worsted headpiece, and a common blouse ; and 
my companions were attired in a similar manner. 

There was now great activity in the camp. 
Some of the guides ranged the wine bottles side 
by side in the snow ; others unpacked the re- 
freshment knapsacks ; others, again, made a rude 
fireplace, and filled a stew-pan with snow to melt. 
All this time it was so hot, and the sun was so 
bright, that 1 began to think the guide who told 
De Saussure he should take a parasol up with 
him, did not deserve to have been laughed at. 
As soon as our wild bivouac assumed a little 
appearance of order, two of the guides were sent 
up the glacier to go a great way ahead, and then 
return and report upon the state of the snow on the 
plateaux. When they had started, we perched 
ourselves about on the comparatively level spaces 
of the rock, and with knife and fingers began our 
dinner. We kept high festival that afternoon on 
the Grand Mulets. 

One stage of our journey — and that one by no 
means the easiest — had been achieved without the 

slightest hurt or harm. The consciousness of 
success thus far, the pure transparent air, the 
excitement attached to the very position in which 
we found ourselves, and the strange bewildering 
novelty of the surrounding scenery, produced a 
flowing exhilaration of spirits that I had 
never before experienced. The feeling was 
shared by all ; and we laughed and sang, and 
made the guides contribute whatever they could 
to the general amusement, and told them such 
stories as would translate well in return ; until, 
I believe, that dinner will never be forgotten by 

A fine diversion was afforded by racing the 
empty bottles down the glacier. We flung them 
off from the rock as far as we were able, and then 
watched their course. Whenever they chanced 
to point neck first down the slope, they started 
off with inconceivable velocity, leaping the 
crevices by their own impetus, until they were 
lost in the distance. The excitement of the 
guides during this amusement was very re- 
markable : a stand of betting men could not have 
betrayed more at the Derby. Their anxiety 
when one of the bottles approached a crevice 
was intense ; and if the gulf was cleared they 
perfectly screamed with delight, " Void un bon 
coureur ! ' " or, " Tiens 1 commeil saute blent" 
burst from them ; and " Le grand s'arrete I " 
" II est perdu — quel dommage ! " u Non — il 
marche encore ! " could not have been uttered 
with more earnestness had they been watching a 
herd of chamois. 

The sun at length w T ent down behind the 
Aiguille du Goute ; and then, for two hours, a 
scene of such wild and wondrous beauty — of 
such inconceivable and unearthly splendor — burst 
upon me, that, spell-bound, and almost trembling 
with the emotion its magnificence called forth — 
with every sense, and feeling, and thought 
absorbed by its brilliancy, I saw far more than 
the realisation of the most gorgeous visions that 
opium or hasheesh could evoke, accomplished. 
At first, everything about us, above, around, 
below — the sky, the mountain, and the lower 
peaks — appeared one uniform creation of burnished 
gold, so brightly dazzling that, now our veils w r ere 
removed, the eye could scarcely bear the splendor. 
As the twilight gradually crept over the lower 
world, the glow became still more vivid ; and pre- 
sently, as the blue mists rose in the valleys, the 
tops of the higher mountains looked like islands 
rising from a filmy ocean — an archipelago of 
gold. By degrees this metallic lustre was softened 
into tints, — first orange, and then bright, trans- 
parent crimson, along the horizon, rising through 
the different hues with prismatic regularity, until, 
immediately above us, the sky was a deep pure 
blue, merging towards the east into glowing 
violet. The snow took its color from these 
changes ; and every portion on which the light 
fell was soon tinged with pale carmine, of a 
shade similar to that which snow at times 
assumes, from some imperfectly-explained cause, 
at high elevations — such, indeed, as I had seen, 
in early summer, upon the Furka and Faulhom. 

These beautiful hues grew brighter as the twi- 
light below increased in depth ; and it now came 
marching up the valley of the glaciers, until it 
reached our resting-place. Higher and higher 



still it drove the lovely glory of the sun-light 
before it, until at last the vast Dome de Goute 
and the summit itself stood out, icelike and grim, 
in the cold evening air, although the horizon still 
gleamed with a belt of rosy light. Although this 
superb spectacle had faded away, the scene was 
still even more than striking. The fire which the 
guides had made, and which was now burning 
and crackling on a ledge of rock a little below us, 
threw its flickering light, with admirable effect, 
upon our band. The men had collected round 
the blaze, and were making some chocolate, as 
they sang patois ballads and choruses ; they were 
all evidently as completely at home as they would 
have been in their chalets. 

We had arranged ourselves as conveniently as 
we could, so as not to inconvenience one another, 
and had still nothing more than an ordinary wrap- 
per over us ; there had been no attempt to build 
the tent with batons and canvass, as I had read in 
some of the Mont Blanc narratives — the starry 
Heaven was our only roofing. Mr. Floyd and Mr. 
Philips were already fast asleep. Mr. West was 
still awake, and I was too excited even to close 
my eyes in the attempt to get a little repose. We 
talked for awhile, and then he also was silent. 
The stars had come out, and, looking over the 
plateau, I soon saw the moonlight lying cold and 
silvery on the summit, stealing slowly down the 
very track by which the sunset glories had passed 
upward and away. But it came so tardily, that 
I knew it would be hours before we derived any 
actual benefit from the light. 

One after another the guides fell asleep, until 
only three or four remained round the embers of 
the fire, thoughtfully smoking their pipes. And 
then silence, impressive beyond expression, reigned 
over our isolated world. Often and often, from 
Chamouni, I had looked up at evening towards 
the darkening position of the Grand Mulets, and 
thought, almost with shuddering, how awful it 
must be for men to pass the night in such a 
remote, eternal, and frozen wilderness. And now 
I was lying there — in the very heart of its ice- 
bound and appalling solitude. In such close com- 
munion with nature in her grandest aspect, with 
no trace of the actual living world beyond the 
mere speck that our little party formed, the mind 
was carried far away from its ordinary train of 
thought — a solemn emotion of mingled awe and 
delight, and yet self-perception of abject nothing- 
ness, alone rose above every other feeling. A 
vast untrodden region of cold, and silence, and 
death, stretched out far and away from us on every 
side ; but above, Heaven, with its countless watch- 
ful eyes, was over all ! 

Having got thus far, it would be sad 
indeed to leave our travellers in the lurch. 
Let us drag on, then, with them, till they 
reach the summit : — 

For upwards of half an hour we kept on 
slowly mounting this iceberg, until we reached 
the foot of the last ascent — the calotte, as it is 
called — the " cap " of Mont Blanc. The danger 
was now over, but not the labor, for this dome of 
ice was difficult to mount. The axe was again in 
requisition; and everybody was so "blown" (in 
common parlance) that we had to stop every three 
or four minutes. My young companions kept 

bravely on, like fine fellows as they were, getting 
ahead even of some of the guides ; but 1 was per- 
fectly done up. Honest Tiarraz had no sinecure 
to pull me after him ; for I was stumbling about, 
as though completely intoxicated. T could not 
keep my eyes open, and planted my feet anywhere 
but in the right place. I know I was exceedingly 
cross. I have even a recollection of having scolded 
my "team," because they did not go quicker ; and 
I was excessively indignant when one of them 
dared to call my attention to Monte Rosa. 

At last, one or two went in front, and thus some- 
what quickened our progress. Gradually our speed 
increased, until I was scrambling almost on my 
hands and knees ; and then, as I found myself on 
a level, it suddenly stopped. I looked round, and 
saw there was nothing higher. The batons were 
stuck in the snow, and the guides were grouped 
about ; some lying down, and others standing in 
little parties. I was on the top of Mont Blanc ! 
The ardent wish of years was gratified ; but I was 
so completely exhausted, that, without looking 
round me, I fell down upon the snow, and was 
asleep in an instant. I never knew the charm 
before of that mysterious and brief repose which 
ancient people term " forty winks." Six or seven 
minutes of dead slumber, was enough to restore 
the balance of my ideas ; and when Tiarraz awoke 
me, I was once more perfectly myself. 

And now I entered into the full delight that 
the consciousness of our success brought with it. 
It w T as a little time before I could look at anything 
steadily. I wanted the whole panorama condensed 
into one point ; for, gazing at Geneva and the 
Jura, I thought of the plains of Lombardy behind 
me ; and turning round towards them, my eye 
immediately wandered away to the Oberland, with 
its hundred peaks, glittering in the bright morning 

Who, after reading all that we have here 
set before them, will rest satisfied without 
seeing it realised ? Not one person, we 
hope, who is possessed of a spare shilling. 

Success to Albert Smith ! say we. He 
has made loads of money, and he deserves it. 
He once ■■ cut us up " in print, and made fun 
of us for being such a devoted " lover of 
nature," or what lie called " nonsense." We 
glory in taking our revenge in a different 

All " lovers of nature " can afford to be 
good-tempered. No ill-feeling can ever 
linger in their breast. Let us therefore 
"cry quits, "good Mr. Albert Smith. Along 
and merry reign to you and your clever Book ! 

M'Intosh's Book of the Garden. 
XIII. — Blackwood and Sons. 


In our earlier numbers w r e have 
directed special attention to this excellent 
work, so rich in horticultural information, 
and so ably illustrated. It proceeds well. 

In the number before us, are some remark- 
ably interesting observations connected with 
the hybridising of plants. They are from 
the well-known pen of M r. Isaac Anderson, 



the first authority living on that particular 

Feeling assured that our readers will 
derive great pleasure from the perusal, -we 
subjoin part of the article to which we have 
alluded : — 

To those who would attempt the hybridising 
or cross breeding of plants, I will now offer 
some suggestions for their guidance. It is an 
essential element to success that the operator be 
possessed of indomitable patience, watchfulness, 
and perseverance. Having determined on the 
subjects on which he is to operate, if the plants 
are in the open ground, he will have them put into 
pots, and removed under glassy so as to escape 
the accidents of variable temperature — of wind, 
rain, and dust, and above all, of insects; 

A greenhouse fully exposed to the sun is best 
adapted for the piirpose, at least as regards hardy 
and proper greenhouse plants. Having got them 
housed, secure a corner where they are least 
likely to be visited by bees or other insects. The 
plants which are to yield the pollen, and the 
plants which are to bear the seed, should be both 
kept in the same temperature ; but where this 
cannot be managed, pollen from an outside plant, 
in genial summer weather, may be used, provided 
it can be got ; for th?re is a class of insects which 
live exclusively on pollen, and devour it so fast 
after the pollen vessels open, that, unless the 
plant is under a hand-glass (which I would recom* 
mend), it is scarcely possible to get any pollen for 
the required purpose. 

To secure against chances of this naturej a 
sprig with opening bloom may be taken and 
kept in a phial and water inside, where it will 
get sufficient sun to ripen the pollen. But here, 
too, insects must be watched, and destroyed if 
they intrude. An insect like, but smaller than, 
the common hive bee, which flits about by fits 
and starts, on expanded wings, after the manner 
of the dragon-fly, is the greatest pest, and seems 
to feed exclusively on pollen. The hive bee, the 
humble bee, and wasp give the next greatest 
annoyance. All these may be excluded by netting, 
fixed over apertures from open sashes or the like. 
Too much care cannot be bestowed on exclud- 
ing these intruders, whose single touch, in many 
cases, might neutralise the intended result ; for the 
slightest application of pollen native to the parent 
plantissaid by physiologists to supersede all foreign 
agency, unless, perhaps, in the crossing of mere 
varieties ; and the truth of this observation con- 
sists with my own experience; Without due pre- 
caution now, the labor, anxiety; and watchfulness 
of years may issue in vexation and disappointment. 
As a further precaution still, and to prevent self- 
fertilisation, divest the blooms to be operated on 
not only of their anthers but also of their corollas. 
Remove, also, all contiguous blooms upon the 
plant, lest the syringe, incautiously directed, or 
some sudden draft of air, convey the native pollen, 
ahd anticipate the intended operation. 

The corolla appears to be the means by which in- 
sects are attracted ; and though when it is removed 
the honey on which they feed is still present, they 
seem puzzled, or indifferent about collecting it; or 
if haply they should alight on the dismantled flower 
(which I never have detected), the stigma is in 

most cases safe from their contact.. It will be some 
days — probably a week or more, if the weather be 
not sunny — ere the stigma is in a fit condition for 
fertilisation. This is indicated in many families, 
such as Ericaceae, Rosacese, Serophularinese, 
Aurantiaceee, &c, by a viscous exudation in the 
sutures (where these exist) of the stigma, but gene- 
rally covering the entire surface of that organ. In 
this condition the stigma may remain many days, 
during which fertilisation may be performed; and 
this period will be longer or shorter as the weather 
is sunny, or damp, or overcast. In certain families, 
such as the Malvaceae, Geraniacese, &c, where 
the stigma divides itself into feathery parts,_ and 
where the viscous process is either absent or inap- 
preciable by the eye, the separation of these parts, 
the bursting of the pollen,, the maturity of the 
stigma, and all. which a little experience will 
detect, indicate the proper time for the operation — 
sunny or cloudy weather always affecting the dura- 
tion of the period during which it maybe success- 
fully performed. 

As to the proper time and season best adapted 
for such experiments, a treatise might be written ; 
but here a few remarks must suffice. As for the 
season of the year, from early spring to midsummer 
I would account the best period ; but, as I have 
just observed,- I regard all cold, damp, cloudy, and 
ungenial Weather as unfavorable. On the other 
hand, when the weather is genial not so much from 
sun heat as at times occurs from the atmosphere 
being moderately charged with electricity, when 
there is an elasticity, so to speak, in the balmy air, 
and all nature seems joyous and instinct with 
life — this, of all others, is the season which the 
hybridist should improve, and above all if he 
attempt muling. 

The hybridist should be provided with a 
pocket lens, a pair of wire pincers, and various 
colored silk threads. With the lens he will 
observe the maturity of the pollen and the condi- 
tion of the stigma, whether the former has 
attained its powdery, and the latter (if such is 
its nature) its viscous condition. If he find both 
the pollen and the stigma in a fit state, he will, 
with the pincers, apply an anther with ripened 
pollen, and by the gentlest touch distribute it 
very thinly over the summit of the stigma. The 
operation performed, he will mark it by tying 
round the flower stalk a bit of that particular 
colored silk thread which he wishes to indicate 
the particular plant which bore the pollen ; and 
at the same time tie a bit of the same silk 
round the stem of the latter, which will serve till 
recorded in a note-book, which should be kept 
by every one trying experiments on a large 

It is quite unnecessary to offer any directions 
as to the results to be effected. If it is desired 
to reproduce the larger, finer formed, or higher 
colored bloom of a plant having a tall, straggling, 
or too robust a growth, or having too large or too 
coarse foliage in a plant without these drawbacks, 
I need not suggest to select, in another species of 
the same family a plant of an opposite character 
and properties — say of dwarf compact growth, 
handsome foliage, and free flowering habit ; and 
if such can be obtained, work with it, making the 
latter the seed bearer. Or, if it be desirable to 
impart the fragrance of a less handsome kind to 



another 1 more handsome, I would make the cross 
upon the latter. I cannot speak with certainty 
from my own experiments how far perfume may 
be so communicated ; but I have some things far 
advanced to maturity to test it; and I entertain 
the hope that fragrance may not only be so im- 
parted, but even'heightened, varied, and improved. 
Or if it be desired to transfer all, or any 
valuable property or quality, from a tender exotic 
species to a native or hardy kind, work upon the 
latter ; for so far as constitution goes, 1 agree 
with those who hold that the female overrules in 
this particular. I would offer this caution to 
those who wish to preserve the purity of certain 
flowers for exhibition, especially those having 
white grounds, not to cross such with high 
colored sorts. 

I once spoiled a pure white bloomed Calceolaria 
for exhibition, by crossing it with a crimson sort ; 
all the blooms on those branches where the 
operation had been performed, being stained red, 
and not the few flowers merely on which the 
cross was effected. In this note, already too 
long, I cannot further illustrate my remarks, by 
recorded experiments in the various tribes upon 
which I have tried my hand ; but I cannot leave 
the subject without inculcating, in the strongest 
manner, the observance of the rules I have laid 
down to prevent vexatious disappointments. If 
any doubts arise about the cross being genuine 
or effectually secured, let not the seeds be sown. 
Three, four, five, and even six years, must often- 
times elapse with trees and shrubby things, ere 
the result can be judged of ; and if eventually it 
prove a failure, or even doubtful, it is worse than 
labor lost, inasmuch as it may mislead. If there 
is no great departure from the female parent, the 
issue is to be mistrusted. It is singular, if well 
accomplished, how much of both parents is blended 
in the progeny. 

Gentlemen eminent as physiologists have read 
nature's laws in these matters a little differently 
from what my own humble experience has taught 
me, and assigned to the progeny the constitution 
and general aspect of the one parent ; while they 
gave the inflorescence and fruit to the other. I 
have crossed and inverted the cross, and can 
venture to give no evidence on the point, except, 
perhaps, as to coiistitution, to which the seed- 
bearer, I think, contributes most. A well- 
managed hybrid should and will blend both 
parents into a distinct intermediate, insomuch 
as to produce often what might pass for a new 
species. If the leaning be to one more than 
another, it is probably to the female, though this 
will not always be the case. Again, it is asserted 
that a proper hybrid— -i.e., one species which is 
crossed with another species, which is separate 
and distinct from it — will produce no fertile seeds. 
This does not accord with my observations. My 
hybrid, Veronica lialfouriana (an intermediate 
between V. saxatilis and V. fruticulosa), seeds, I 
would say, more abundantly than either parent ; 
and the progeny from its self-sown seeds I find to 
be of various shades of blue, violet, and red, rising 
in my garden — some having actually larger, finer, 
and higher-colored blooms than the parent 
bearing the seed ; and I am familiar with the 
same result in other things. 

Yet I am far from asserting fertility in the 

produce between two members of allied but 
distinct genera — such, for example, as in the 
Brianthus, which I have found to be unproduc- 
tive, whether employed as the male or female 
parent. As above conjectured, its parents were 
far too remote in nature's own arrangement. The 
hybridist has a field before him ever suggestive of 
new modes of acting. He may try, as I have 
done, what may be effected under various tinted 
glass. My persuasion is, that 1 effected from a 
pale yellow a pure white-grounded Calceolaria, 
by placing the plants under blue shaded glass, by 
which the sun's rays were much subdued. He 
may also apply chemical^olutions to plants with 
ripening seeds. 


Nature, in producing, as it sometimes does, 
plants with blooms of colors opposite to those of 
the parent, must be governed by some law. Why 
may not this law be found out ? For example, 
under what influence was the first white Fuchsia, 
the F.Venus Victrix, produced— the purest yet of 
all the race* and the source from which all the 
whites have been derived ? 

We shall not attempt to offer any apology 
for the length of this article. It demands, 
from its importance, all the space it occu- 

A Cyclopaedia of Poetical Quotations. 
Edited by H. G. AdamS. 12mo. Groom- 
bridge and Sons. 

This little volume may be regarded as a 
valuable addition to our existing works of 
poetical entertainment and instructive know- 
ledge. In alphabetical arrangement we have 
choice passages, on a multitude of subjects, 
selected from the poets of every age and 
country ; the whole presenting a poetical 
dictionary, aptly constructed for ready and 
constant reference. 

The taste of the selector is unquestionably 
good ; and we envy him much the sweet- 
smelling groves of poesy through which he 
must have wandered, whilst culling so many 
and such elegant blossoms. Turn where you 
will, each page is set with a profusion of 
literary gems. 

We are glad to hear that the success of 
this work has been great ; and that, in con- 
sequence, a similar Cyclopaedia of Sacred 
Poetical Quotations is about to be published in 
12 monthly Parts. We have seen the first 
part ; and it gives excellent promise for the 


How often do we see the truth of this well- 
known adage confirmed in practices and habits 
that are evil ! Why should it extend so far only ? 
Surely this is wrong. 

We cannot help enforcing upon the minds of 
all our readers — a most choice company truly — 
that a habit of doing good soon becomes 
" natural "-<— and what pleasure it does bring with 
it! Try it. 





I sigh for the land where the orange-tree flingeth 
Its prodigal bloom on the myrtle below ; 

Where the moonlight is warm, and the gondolier 
And clear waters take up the strain as they go. 

Oh ! fond is the longing, and rapt is the vision 
That stirs up my soul over Italy's tales ; 

But the present was bright as the far-off Elysian, 
When I roved in the sun-flood through Derby- 
shire Dales. 

There was joy for my eye, there was balm for my 
breathing ; 
Green branches above me — blue streams at my 
side : 
The hand of Creation seemed proudly bequeathing 
The beauty reserved for a festival tide. 

I was bound, like a child, by some magical story, 
Forgetting the " South" and " Ionian Vales ; " 

And felt that dear England had temples of glory, 
Where any might worship, in Derbyshire Dales. 

Sweet pass of the " Dove" 'mid rock, river, and 
How great is thy charm for the wanderer's 
breast ! 
With thy moss -girdled towers and foam -jewelled 
Thy mountains of might and thy valleys of rest. 

I gazed on thy wonders — lone, silent, adoring, 
I bent at the altar whose " fire never pales : " 

The Great Father was with me — Devotion was 
Its holiest praises in Derbyshire Dales. 

Wild glen of dark " Taddington" — rich in thy 
Of forest-green cloak, with grey lacing bedight ; 
How I lingered to watch the red Western rays 
Thy leaf-mantled bosom with lances of light ! 

And " Monsal," thou mine of Arcadian treasure, 
Need we seek for " Greek Islands" and spice- 
laden gales, 
While a Tempe like thee of enchantment and 
May be found in our own native Derbyshire 

There is much in my past bearing way-marks of 
The purest and rarest in odor and bloom ; 
There are beings and breathings, and places and 
Still trailing in roses o'er Memory's tomb. 

And when I shall count o'er the bliss that's de- 
And Old Age be telling its garrulous tales, 
Those days will be first when the kind and true- 
Were nursing my spirit in Derbyshire 



Fashion's the word which knaves and fools do use, 
Their filthiness and folly to excuse. 


My dear Sir, — You and I have lots of 
hard work to perform. All up-hill, eh ? 
Never mind. We are a mighty host in 
ourselves. We will hold the glass up — until 
people do look in it. 

A new game is "up." Now strenuous 
efforts are being put forth, to convert men 
who already closely resemble monkeys, into 
the actual monkey itself.* Some wiseacre, 
an outcast we imagine from female society, 
has discovered that the filthy appendage 
of hair, in the form of lots of beard and 
moustache (a foreign fashion "of course"), 
is not only ornamental to a man's face, but 
a preservative of health ! The subjoined 
abridged extract is going the rounds of the 
papers ; and it is treated, not as a joke, but 
as a fact. Listen, loveliest of your sex, 
what is preparing for you to be "fond of." 
Where will you ever find room to impress 
the "tribute of affection," if this Esau-rian 
project be carried out? Why, it will take a 
little month to discover the smallest spot 
on the human frontispiece that is clear of 
weeds ! — ■ 

A fine flowing beard, bushy whiskers, and a 
well-trained moustache protect the opening of the 
mouth, and filter the air. They also act as a 
respirator, and prevent the inhalation into 
the lungs of air that is too frosty. In the 
case of blacksmiths who wear beards and 
moustaches, the hair about the mouth is dis- 
colored by the iron dust canght on its way into 
the mouth and lungs. Travellers often wait until 
their moustaches have grown, before they brave 
the sandy air of deserts. 

Men who retain the hair about the mouth, are 
less liable to decay or achings of the teeth. Both 
dust and smoke get into the lungs, and only in a 
small degree is it possible for them to be decom- 
posed and removed by processes of life. The air- 

* When in London, I occasionally meet a most 
singular specimen of the genus homo, who culti- 
vates the moustache and whiskers. He moves in 
high society; is only recently out of his teens, 
and exhales the odor of a civet cat. When he 
salutes any of his family or relatives, he 
approaches their face on tip-toe, and deposits 
the " salute" with a degree of careful foresight 
perfectly astounding. If but one single hair 
were deranged by the operation, he would be 
cross all that day. When he is " prepared" for 
going out to dinner, catch him " saluting" if 
you can ! His face is then sacred — unapproach- 
able. A curious specimen of humanity is this 
budding youth — well educated indeed, and of a 
good family, but so steeped in vanity, and so 
shackled by fashion's trammels, that one must 
pity him. — W. 



passages of a Manchester man, or of a resident 
in the city of London, if opened after death, are 
found to be more or less colored by the dirt that 
has been breathed. Perhaps it does not matter 
much : but we had better not make dust-holes or 
chimney-funnels of our lungs. The Englishman 
who, at the end of his days, has spent about an 
entire year of his life in scraping off his beard, 
has worried himself to no purpose ! He has 
disfigured himself systematically throughout 
life'!!), accepted his share of unnecessary tic- 
doloreux and toothache, coughs and colds ; has 
swallowed dust, and inhaled smoke and fog, out 
of complaisance to the social prejudice which 
happens just now to prevail. 

If tliis monkey-trick is to be played with 
the human countenance, we hope all our fair 
friends will pause before they make any- 
further engagements " for better, for zoorse." 
Let them look out for some smooth, fit, 
clean, and worthy object on whom to bestow 
the morning benediction, the noon-tide 
greeting, and the evening blessing; and 
having found him, let them bind him down 
to use the razor unsparingly. Only think 
of a Turk's-head mop coming in rude con- 
tact with a lily-of-the-valley, or a damask- 
rose ! 

What very filthy brutes men are ! They 
have, as you say, made spirit-vats of their 
insides, chimneys of their noses, volcanoes 
of their throats, apes of their persons ; and 
noio their faces are going to be turned into — 
scrubbing-brushes ! 

" W r hat next, Mr. Merriman ? " 

Cambridge, Sept. 3. 


[Well said, Walter. There seems to be 
a neck-or-nothing race between the sexes, to 
try who can most excel in personal defor- 
mity. They are going a-head at electric 
speed, and will soon extinguish all traces of 
symmetry, comeliness, and humanity. Every 
day slices off some one of the gentler orna- 
ments of Nature's delicate hand, and replaces 
it by another of the rougher kind — borrowed 
from the lower order of the brute creation. 
In a letter recently received from Glasgow, 
a friend says, speaking of the spreading 
mania — " In this place, too, there is a 
decided movement showing itself against the 
use of the razor ; and even the workmen 
have resolved to cultivate the moustache!'''' 
(Only think of the "population" on the 
human face, when next the census is taken!) 

Of course the upper classes set the bad 
example, and it immediately spreads like 
wild-fire. Never mind, Walter. We will 
not lay aside the razor ; but shave very 
close, and with a very keen edge, all those 
whose bestial propensities lead them to stray 
from the pleasant paths of Nature's sweet 
garden, be they male, or be they female. 

" Let the galled jade wince ; our withers 
are unwrung."] 



At a certain season of the year, 
Mr. Editor, during the hot dry months 
(March, April, and May), that frightful 
disease, hydrophobia, prevails to a great 
extent among the wild-dogs and jackals that 
infest nearly every inhabited part of India. 
Both of these animals are addicted to carrion 
in the most advanced stages of putrefaction, 
and, by indulging their polluted appetites 
with decayed carcases, they incur, thereby, 
the most loathsome diseases ; disgusting in 
appearance to behold, and dangerous to 

In the month of March, the town and 
surrounding neighborhood of Cuttack was 
visited by numerous mad dogs, which had 
bitten large numbers of cattle, and many 
human beings had suffered from the attacks 
of these rabid creatures. The two frequent 
occurrences of this description inspired the 
natives with a dread of moving abroad, and 
this circumstance having reached the ears of 
the officers of the 66th Regiment of Bengal 
Native Infantry, which was at the time 
stationed at Cuttack, the latter determined 
that they would hunt down all the parriahs 
they might meet with, and destroy them 
indiscriminately. With this view, several 
gentlemen met upon the Chowly-a-gunge 
plain, armed with hog-spears ; and mounting 
their horses, took the field, intent upon their 
object. This plain extends for about a mile 
in length, and is partially occupied by 
decayed bungalows, many years since the 
residences of the officers of regiments which 
lay on the Chowly lines. But when the 
staff of Cuttack was reduced, in 1824, the 
lines were thenceforth abandoned, and the 
ruins are now resorted to by dogs and jackals 
only, where they take up their lonesome 

Large droves of bullocks are in the con- 
stant practice of grazing upon this extensive 
tract of territory, and scarcely a day passes 
over but one or more of these beasts die of 
disease, and their carcases are left upon the 
plain, as food for the dogs and jackals. 
Hence the latter are continually haunting 
this desolate spot, looking out for carrion 
spoil. The hunters, shortly after their 
arrival on the ground, got view of a dead 
bullock, which was being greedily contended 
for by thirteen or fourteen parriah dogs, and 
a group of volucrine competitors for the 
prize, in the form of a flight of fierce and 
hungry vultures. These forbidding-looking 
birds, — these death-scenting scavengers, had 
assembled around the carcase in large num- 
bers, with their frowning wings expanded, 



and their long bare necks extended, shrieking 
and hissing, and menacing the dogs, as the 
latter assailed the already half-demolished 
carrion. The dogs, on the other hand, whilst 
being interrupted in the act of enjoying their 
spoil, spitefully relinquished, at intervals, 
their disputed meal, attacking the phalanxes 
of wings with a greedy vindictiveness, whilst 
the birds retreated for a while from the im- 
mediate scene of the disgusting carnival. 

The sun was fiercely branding these busy 
scavengers of the offal of the plain, whose 
blood must have been rankling under its 
influence, when the hunters galloped up to 
the spot, and charged, spear in hand, the 
grumbling pack. Loathsome indeed they 
looked ! The foul mange had eaten off the 
hair from their bodies, and a raw surface, an 
angry red tint, appeared to glow with a con- 
suming heat over the morbid complexion of 
these filthy satellites of animal corruption. 
The knell of death— that horrid bay pro- 
ceeding from the dog of the wilderness, 'which, 
whilst it falls upon the ear, appals the heart, 
was now uttered in the hollow intonations of 
despair. They were too indolent to retreat 
before the froward spear, but ululated their 
death elegy upon the spot; submitting to 
the impending fate that awaited them with- 
out apparently evincing a reluctant feeling — 
like willing martyrs to a meritorious cause. 

During this short-lived onslaught, the 
greedy birds kept aloof, at a little distance 
off, watching with exulting expectancy the 
additional features that attended their partly 
devoured banquet. The same dogs which, 
bat a few minutes before, had forced them 
to surrender up their interests in the carrion 
spoil, had, they perceived, now become the 
undisputed victims to their indiscriminate 
appetite ; and the hunters had not departed 
one hundred yards from the scene, when, on 
looking round, they observed the feathered 
host of these busy destroyers incorporated 
with the bodies of the slain — like so many 
sappers exercising their pickaxes in defacing 
the objects they were desirous to demolish, 
whilst, at intervals, the vulturine scream 
assailed their ears, the gladsome tidings with 
which this death-abiding bird heralds to his 
mate, afar off, that flesh is awaiting him. 

Near a deserted bungalow, the roofing of 
which had fallen in, and the walls of which 
were in the last stages of decay (whilst a few 
scattered surrufihur (custard-apple) andguava 
trees ^ that had survived a lapse of years 
(tending to denote to the occasionally passing 
stranger that the spot was once inhabited by 
some English officer, whose fate had been 
prematurely sealed in an Indian climate, as 
had been that of thousands before him), lay 
reposing in the shade, a large parriah dog. 
He was of an unusual size, and on observing 
the horsemen, and suspecting them to be 

unwelcome intruders, he challenged their 
approach with a latrant yell ; but perceiving 
that they were intent upon his person, he 
rose from his recumbent position, and, at a 
slack pace, took to the plain. This was a 
chance not to be thrown away. The hunters 
rode in pursuit, and the parriah, finding that 
they were at his heels, and in earnest with 
him, redoubled his speed, and effected the 

He was a powerful animal, of a ferocious 
aspect, full of wind and vigor. And although 
he was not a sufficient match for the many in 
numbers that followed him, he nevertheless, 
by his adroitness, contrived to baffle them 
in their pursuit of him, by having recourse 
to an artful stratagem. There was a deep 
ravine, of some considerable breadth, that 
lay on the side of the highroad leading to the 
town of Cuttack, which no horse could com- 
pass in a leap, and joining this chasm was a 
thick Kurah (wild pine- apple) jungle. Whilst 
his pursuers were pressing him closely, he 
suddenly disappeared before their eyes ; and 
before they could reconcile themselves to the 
loss of the chase, two of the gentlemen out of 
the five fell with their horses E into the chasm, 
and were injured most seriously, insomuch 
that they abandoned the sport for the day. 
The dog effected his escape, but was never 
afterwards seen nor surprised in his former 
forlorn haunts. 

For several successive days this sport was 
followed up with perseverance and energy ; 
and after some scores of these animals had 
been sacrificed to the zeal of the hunters, the 
latter dropped the practice, owing to the 
intense heat of the weather, and the magis- 
trates appointed dooms (dog destroyers) with 
instructions to them to despatch every animal 
of the above description that came under 
their notice. In less than three days after 
this warrant was signed, no fewer than four 
hundred and seventy canine faces were ex- 
hibited on the premises of the magistrate's 
cutcherry. The consequence was, that for 
some length of time after this event, the 
sight of a dog in the district under consi- 
deration was a rare spectacle. 

But the abatement of one nuisance en- 
gendered another. The carcases of bullocks, 
horses, and other animals, which lay dispersed 
on the face of the country around, were left 
to decompose ; and they poisoned the atmos- 
phere with the foul and fetid gases which 
evolved from them, bringing about disease 
and death in other shapes among the inhabi- 
tants. For the vultures — not being localised 
in the vicinity, but birds which range over 
a vast field of territory, in quest of carrion — 
were found to be too few hi numbers to con 
sume the cadaverous nuisances, whilst the 
open country around Cuttack was unfavor- 
able to the tenancy and suitableness k of the 



seclusive jackal. Besides this circumstance, 
the latter station is a peninsula, formed by 
the juxta- conflux of the two great rivers, the 
Mahanudee and Gonjuree, so that there was 
no opportunity left for strange dogs to enter 
the town from the country around. 

This fact may be well worth noting down, 
for it often happens that men blindly sup- 
press a less evil, whilst they are at the same 
time propagating a greater one. Were it 
not for the innumerable quantities of parriah 
dogs, jackals, vultures, and other obscene 
animals, being so abundant throughout India 
(subsisting almost exclusively upon carrion;, 
that country would prove the seat of per- 
petual pestilence — a diorama of death. 


Sunbeams are shining 

Cheeringly gay, 
O'er leaflets entwining 

In summer array ; 
Flowerets are springing 

In beauty and light, 
And birds sweetly singing 

Afar up the height ; 
Breezes are bustling 

Around in the glade, 
And green leaves are rustling 

In bloom undecayed ; 
Waters are streaming, 

Gurglingly sweet, 
And butterflies dreaming 

In beauty replete — 
Over the grass. 

Moonbeams are playing, 

In silver arraying 
Each cranny and nook of the earth ; 
Bright eyes are glancing, 

And fairies are dancing, 
And freely resounding their mirth — 
Over the grass. 

Hearts light and cheering, 

Are fondly endearing 
The thought of a love long to last ; 
And beauty is glowing, 

Where affection is flowing, 
In warmth that no tempest shall blast — 
Over the grass. 

Lovers are sighing, 

Affection is dying, 
And hopes, fondly cherished, are fled ; 
Ribalds are drinking, 

And treachery slinking, 
Where friendship's sweet light should be 

Over the grass. 

Childhood is toying, 

And fondly enjoying, 
The moments of youth as they pass ; 
And age is repining, 

Though swiftly declining 
Away from the sins that amass — 
Over the grass. 

J. B. 


The Eccentricity of Genius, and the 
enthusiasm of inquiring minds, are too well 
known to require comment. But some clever 
men are so delightfully erratic, that even 
their so-called weaknesses give the beholders 
pleasure. A specimen of one of these 
characters is thus charmingly portrayed by 
Audubon, in his Auto-biography : — 

" ' What an odd-looking fellow ! ' said I to 
myself, as, while walking by the river, I 
observed a man landing from a boat, with 
what I thought a bundle of dried clover on 
his back. ' How the boatmen stare at him ! 
Sure he must be an original.' He ascended 
with a rapid step, and, approaching me, asked 
— if I could point out the house in which 
Mr. Audubon resided ? ' Why, I am the 
man,' said I, ' and will gladly lead you to my 

" The traveller rubbed his hands together 
with delight, and, drawing a letter from his 
pocket, handed it to me without any remark. 
I broke the seal, and read as follows : — ' My 
dear Audubon, I send you an odd fish, which 
you may prove to be undescribed, and hope 
you will do so in your next letter. Believe 
me always your friend, B.' 

" With all the simplicity of a back-woods- 
man, I asked the bearer where the odd fish 
was, when M. de T. (for, kind reader, the 
individual in my presence was none else than 
that renowned naturalist) smiled, rubbed his 
hands, and, with the greatest good humor, said, 
' I am that odd fish, I presume, Mr. Audubon.' 
I felt confounded, and blushed, but contrived 
to stammer out an apology. 

" We soon reached the house, when I pre- 
sented my learned guest to my family ; and 
was ordering a servant to go to the boat for 
M. de T.'s luggage, when he told me he had 
none but what he had brought on his back. 
He then loosened the pack of weeds which 
had first drawn my attention. The ladies 
were a little surprised, but I checked their 
critical glances ; for the moment the naturalist 
pulled off his shoes, and while engaged in 
drawing his stockings, not up, but down, in 
order to cover the holes about the heels, told 
us, in the gayest mood imaginable, that he 
had walked a great distance, and had only 
taken a passage on board the Ark, to be put 
on this shore; and that he was sorry his 
apparel had suffered so much from his late 
journey. Clean clothes were offered, but he 
would not accept them ; and it was with 
evident reluctance that he performed the 
lavations usual on such occasions, before he 
sat down to dinner. 

" At table, however, his agreeable conver- 
sation made us all forget his singular appear- 
ance ; and, indeed, it was only as we strolled 
in the garden that his attire struck me as 



exceedingly remarkable. A long loose coat 
of yellow nankeen, much the worse for the 
many rubs it had got in its time, and stained 
all over with the juice of plants, hung loosely 
about him, like a sack ; a waistcoat of the 
same, with enormous pockets, and buttoned 
up to the chin, reached below over a pair of 
tight pantaloons, the lower parts of which 
were buttoned down to the ankles. His 
beard was as long as I have known my own 
to be during some of my peregrinations, and 
his lank black hair hung loosely over his 
shoulders. His forehead was so broad and 
prominent, that any tyro in phrenology would 
instantly have pronounced it the residence of 
a mind of strong powers ; his word impressed 
an assurance of rigid truth, and, as he directed 
the conversation to the study of the natural 
sciences, I listened to him with as much 
delight as Telemachus could have listened to 

" He had come to visit me, he said, ex- 
pressly for the purpose of seeing my drawings ; 
having been told that my representations of 
birds were accompanied with those of shrubs 
and plants, and he was desirous of knowing 
whether I might chance to have in my collec- 
tion any with which he was unacquainted. I 
observed some degree of impatience in his 
request to be allowed to see what I had. We 
returned to the house, when I opened my 
portfolios, and laid them before him. 

"He chanced to turn over the drawing of a 
plant quite new to him. After inspecting it 
closely, he shook his head, and told me no 
such plant existed in nature ; for, kind reader, 
M. de T., although a highly scientific man, 
was suspicious to a fault, and believed such 
plants only to exist as he had himself seen, or 
such as, having been discovered of old, had, 
according to Father Malebranche's expres- 
sion, acquired a "venerable beard." 

"I told my guest that the plant was common 
in the immediate neighborhood, and that I 
should show it him on the morrow. ' And 
why to-morrow, Mr. Audubon ? let us go 
now.' We did so ; and on reaching the bank 
of the river, I pointed to the plant. M. de T. 
I thought had gone mad : he plucked the 
plants one after another, danced, hugged me 
in his arras, and exultingly told me that he had 
got not merely a new species, but a new genus. 
When we returned home the naturalist opened 
the bundle which he had brought on his back, 
and took out a journal — rendered waterproof 
by a leather case, together with a small parcel 
of linen, examined the new plant, and wrote 
its description. The examination of my 
drawings then went on. 

" You would be pleased, kind reader, with 
his criticisms, which were of the greatest 
advantage to me, for, being well acquainted 
with books as well as with nature, he was 
well fitted to give me advice. It was summer, 

and the heat was so great that the windows 
were all open. The light of the candles 
attracted many insects ; among which was 
observed a large species of scarabreus. I 
caught one, and aware of his inclination to 
believe only what he should himself see, I 
showed him the insect, and assured him it was 
so strong that it could crawl on the table 
with the candlestick on its back. ' I should 
like to see the experiment made, Mr. Au- 
dubon,' he replied. It was accordingly made, 
and the insect moved about ; dragging its bur- 
den, so as to make the candlestick change its 
position as if by magic ; until, coming upon 
the edge of the table, it dropped upon the 
floor, took to wing, and made its escape. 

" When it waxed late, I showed him to the 
apartment intended for him during his stay; 
and endeavored to render him comfortable — 
leaving him writing materials in abundance. 
I was indeed heartily glad to have a naturalist 
under my roof. We had all retired to rest : 
every person, I imagined, in deep slumber 
save myself — when, of a sudden, I heard a 
great uproar in the naturalist's room. I got 
up, reached the place in a few moments, and 
opened the door, when, to my astonishment, 
I saw my guest running about the room naked, 
holding the handle of my favorite violin, the 
body of which he had battered to pieces 
against the walls, in attempting to kill the 
bats which had entered by the open window — 
probably attracted by the insects flying around 
his candle. 

"I stood amazed; but he continued jumping 
and running round and round, until he was 
fairly exhausted, when he begged me to pro- 
cure one of the animals for him, as he felt 
convinced they belonged to ' a new species.' 
Although I was convinced of the contrary, I 
took up the bow of my demolished cremona, 
and administering a smart tap to each of the 
bats, as it came np, soon got specimens 
enough. The war ended, I again bade him 
good night, but could not help observing the 
state of the room ; it was strewed with plants, 
which it would seem he had arranged into 
groups, but which were now scattered about 
in confusion. ' Never mind, Mr. Audubon,' 
quoth the eccentric naturalist ; ' never mind, 
I'll soon arrange them again. I have the 
bats, and that's enough ! ' 

"Several days passed, during which we 
followed our several occupations : M. de T. 
searched the woods for plants ; and I, for 
birds. He also followed the margin of the 
Ohio, and picked up many shells, which he 
greatly extolled. With us, 1 told him, they 
were gathered into heaps, to be converted 
into lime. ' Lime ! Mr. Audubon, why they 
are worth a guinea a-piece in any part of 
Europe. ' M. de T. remained with us for three 
weeks, and collected multitudes of plants, 
shells, bats, and fishes. We were perfectly 


1 59 

reconciled to hif odditie j and, finding him pride to boast of the attention which he paid 

a mosl agreeable and intelligent companion, to the detail* of all hi* great projects; even 

hoped that hif sojourn might be longer. > "-■■ ■ r, he knew how many bobnailf 

"But, one evening when tea was prepared, were driven into the heel of every pri 

and we expected him to join the family, he soldier's shoe throughout the lines and 

here to be found. H and added, ; Had I not attended to little ihmgs, 1 

other valuables, were all removed from his should never have been fir. to attend to g 

room. The nigh! pent in searching for ones. 

him in the neighborhood. Noece atu- " We mention tin I known incidents, 

ralisJ could be discovered, Whether be had to illustrate the importance of the principle, 

bed to a swamp, or had been roured since we are all too ready to believe that 

a bear or a garnsh, or had taken to his greatness and great attainments com 

of conjecture ; nor was how or other, by the neglect and contempt, .sorn'; weeks after, that a letter from rather than by the care and attention which 

him, thanking us for our attention, assured we bestow on ( little things. 1 Nothing can 

me of his safety." 


be a more fatal error than such a conviction. 
It is the due attention to : little thing-/ at 
least in the culture and management of the 
garden, whore aione true success must be 
looked for. For example, a gardener may be 
profoundly learned, experienced, and succe 
tul in the culture of the leading productions 
of horticulture — .such as Peaches. Pine- 


the Editor of the Gardeners 1 Journal, 
''from whose pages we borrow the following 
very sensible remarks), to visit one of the ■«*•, Grapes; and, it may be, ornamental 
many great and weU-managed gardens for Jtove and aeenhouse plants. Possibly, too, 

which the North of England has long been £"•"?* ; " rach Y' 1 "'" as * peC ? 1 pr, ' k M 

the first-rate growth oi some eulmary pro- 
iarnous. . .. , - ,. , J ' ,, 

" In passing round the garden at the elose dnet ™ ! but "*?* a * e ar ^ £ g** aftf;r ajl > 
of a day- rain, and in place* wheretbe walks or v ' hat > w * may ask, are all of them put to- 



goodly snower-oatn oi oew-areps on e ei 
pendant twig. Some of these slender branches 
-yielding to the weight of water which, for the 

time, Nature had compelled them to carry- Iror " ™ «jet ^angimg twnjs v .-me o the eon 
in one ortwo instances, the whole x<Ai f' for hu]f; * m S 8 ' T £ e neglect "5"? 
of thehrcontents on the fcee and shoulders of " jr;n ™ ntem P t M »"? tp beget, pemnti 
the owner of the garden, with whom we were 

at the time walking. The dignity and equa- 
nimity of temper so peculiarly characteristic 
of the thorough-bred English gentleman, 

oed for the instant to have been dashed 
to the ground by the falling torrent ; and. in 
an impulse of irritability, he drew his knife 
from bis pocket, and cut down the twig which 

had entrapped him into the utterance of angry 
expressions, which we consider it better not to 

u Amongst other things, he said: — 'My 
gardener is a very good man. but will not be 
taught to value the importance of attending 
to little things.'' We never on any occasion 
saw or felt the force of this trite remark a* 
we did on the occasion in question. Everyone 
is familiar with the peculiarities of character 
for which the late Duke of Wellington was 
so remarkable — we mean the care and atten- 
tion which he insisted on paying to the details 
or : little things ' connected with all the great 
things which he undertook. It has also, as 
our readers well know, been often said of the 
late Napoleon, that he made it his special gets an aching heart through this ! 

heads and shoulders at every f< the 

way something resembling a douche bath, 
from the wet dangling twig I ich the con- 

grow there — we say, if a few instances of this 
kind be allowed to exist, more disappoint- 
ment, angry feeling, and unforgiving temper, 
will be the result, than if half the produce of 
the garden had been lost, from whatever 
cause. Such, at least, U our experience on 
its of this kind. Who indeed needs to 
be told that it. is the : little things.' not the 
great ones, which constitute the main enjoy- 
ments, as well as the annoyances of life V 

"Surely no person who cares to cultivate 
the good-will and esteem of another 'be he 
superior, or equal), will find himself succe 
ml by attending only to what, he may consider 
the more important and greater things, while 
refusing to be taught the value of attending 
to 'little things.'" 

There is so much real good sense conveyed 
in these observations, that we commend them 
most heartily to our readers' notice. 

The half, at least, of one's domestic hap- 
piness is forfeited by the neglect of an ob- 
servance of "little things/' The parting 
smile is sometimes forgotten. "Somebody" 





Beautiful Gossamer ! cheerfully weaving 
Festoons for fairy-land, brilliant and gay ; 

Art thou here to remind us that summer is leaving — • 
That earth's sweetest treasures are passing 
away ? 

I h A ar thy soft whisper of joys, yet beguiling 
Our sorrow at bidding sweet summer adieu ; 

I see the bright sun on thy lov'd labor smiling, 
And Nature has gilded thy garments with dew. 

I've roam'd through the forest, and welcomed 
with pleasure 
Thy light silv'ry thread as it danced on the 
breeze ; 
And sought 'midst the leaves for thy wreaths as a 
That Nature bestows on her favorite trees. 

Dost thou think the bright leaves are ere long 
doom'd to sever, 
That thou bindest around them affection's soft 
thread — 
Or the cold blast of winter will waft them for ever 
Where summer's sweet flowers lie withered and 

Or, wouldst thou retain them awhile, to remind us 
That we too must wither, and fade as a leaf? 

That Tvhen time shall sever the strong ties that 
bind us, 
Affection still lives for the mourner's relief? 

Thy presence I trace on the trees' lofty spire, 
And mark thy fantastic designs on the sod ; 

Whilst Nature invites us to gaze and admire 
The work of a creature whose maker is God. 


How sweet, how placid, how amiable, is the 
disposition of the gentle blind ! Though dark to 
external nature, how obvious are the evidences 
of a serene spirit within them ! AVho ever knew 
their passions to flow in any other current than 
that which was smooth, and calm, and peaceful ? 

On the countenances of those who have been 
early blind, or blind from their birth, are depicted 
none of the deep or startling traces of crime — few 
even of the haggard furrows of care or suffering. 
God seems in pity to have almost removed them 
from the contagion of human depravity, and if 
the glories of nature and the thousand inlets to 
enjoyment which they open are withheld from 
their hearts, so also are the innumerable temp- 
tations which come in along with them. God, in 
depriving them of the good, has mercifully removed 
the corresponding evil; and as those temptations 
of life which would render sight necessary, are 
wisely kept back, so will it be found that a queru- 
lous perception of their loss, and an impatience 
under their condition, are not among the number 
of their afflictions. 

There is, to a man who can feel the philosophy 
of a humane heart, much that is not only touching 

but dignified in the veiled grandeur of their cha- 
racter, as a class. Affliction, whether they feel 
it or not, elevates them in our eyes, and the un- 
assuming simplicity that distinguishes beings so 
utterly helpless, presents them to us in an aspect 
so meek and affecting, that they cannot fail in 
gaining an immediate passport to the better part 
of our nature. In their patience they teach us 
both humility and fortitude. In their cheerful- 
ness we may learn how easy is the task of being 
satisfied with our own condition. And in their 
blameless lives, how much depends the secret of 
controlling our passions, upon the necessity of 
looking less to the external actions of men, and 
more into our own hearts. 

The human face only is theirs ; but though 
the light which stamps it with the glory of divinity, 
breaks not from the eye, it shines in the heart, 
and emanates from the whole countenance. Why 
otherwise is it that the habitual smile of a blind 
man is so ineffably radiant and serene ? and why 
is it that it is habitual ? Because the lustre of 
a pure mind, and the meekness of an inoffensive 
heart, communicate at all times to the features 
an expression of more touching grace than could 
the beauty of the most lustrous eye without them. 

W. C. 


Fly where we will, age will overtake us. 
Moments, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, 
years, — pass away like a flitting cloud. If man 
must fade, so must woman. Beauty tarries not 
very long. Neither rouge, artificial ringlets, nor 
all the resources of the toilet, can retard the re- 
lentless progress of that terrible foe to beauty, 
Time. But every one must have noticed how 
lightly his hand rests upon some, how heavily 
upon others. Whenever you see in an old person 
a smooth unwrinkled forehead, a clear eye, and 
a pleasing cheerful expression, be sure her life has 
been passed in that comparative tranquillity of 
mind, which depends less upon outward vicis- 
situdes than internal peace of mind. 

A good conscience is the greatest preservative 
of beauty. Whenever we see pinched-up features, 
full of lines, and thin curling lips, — we may judge 
of petty passions, envy, and ambition, which have 
worn out their owner. High and noble thoughts 
leave behind them noble and beautiful traces. 
Meanness of thought, and selfishness of feeling, 
league with Time to unite age and ugliness to- 
gether. Fresh air, pure simple food, and exer- 
cise, mental and bodily, with an elevated ambi- 
tion, — will confer on the greatest age a dignified 
beauty, in which youth is deficient. 

There are many men and women, at sixty, 
younger in appearanee and feeling than others at 
forty. They are neither fidgetty nor fretful ; 
and they are good company to the very last. 

When once decay has seized upon the brain, 
and memory totters, then have we lost all that 
renders life supportable, 


"When I am a man," is the poetry of Child- 
hood. " When I was young," is the poetry of 
Old Age. 





HE young of most animals are 
interesting. But, for interest- 
ing both eye and heart, there 


equal to a rosy, giggling, 
curly-headed little child, ar- 
rived at that age when the 
mind begins to bud forth in accents of 
wonder and curiosity. There are some 
people in the world, who "can't bear 
children." Whenever my reader meets with 
one of these child-haters, he may "write 
him down" as "wanting." His heart is out 
of tune, as certainly as his eye is covered 
with the mist of surliness and ill-nature. 

The greatest men of antiquity (generally 
speaking) have been fond of children. Some 
of the master-spirits of modern times are 
equally so. Ourself for instance (!) WE 
positively doat upon children; and a late 
particular friend of ours once saw a vener- 
able preacher, whom he pronounced to be 
the first orator he ever heard — rolling on the 
carpet of his study, with some of his 
children performing similar evolutions 
around him. Should the reader, therefore, 
happen to be a child hater, he will have the 
politeness not to read this essay. He will 
assuredly be unable to sympathise with any 
of its sentiments, and he will ridicule a 
picture of infantine scenes. 

According to the motherly custom which 
has descended from the days of Methuselah 
to the present most auspicious period, we are 
bound to admire every lady's "first- 
born" when we have the happiness of 
beholding it perched on her arm, and incased 
in a tube of long clothes. " What an 
exquisite eye ! What a sweet little nose ! 
What a darling little chin ! What a sweet, 
— what a beautiful baby ! " 

Now this is nothing but complimentary 
mummery. The babe has scarcely the look 
of actual existence as yet ; and we might as 
well prate about the breathing graces of a 
clay model. At this age, the "babe" is 
interesting — but nothing like beautiful. A 
nose, shaped like the knuckle-bone of a 
finger — pea-sized eyes winking against the 
light — a chubby head, with a crown like a 
warming-pan — and a round mouth, resem- 
bling the glass peep-hole to a puppet-show- 
have nothing to do with " beauty." No 
allusion has been made to the com- 
plexion, which, as the most accomplished 
nurse must allow, at this time, very much 
resembles that of a tallow " dip." Neverthe- 
less, as before observed, the little creature 
is interesting ; aud Mamma is perfectly right 

See Volume III., page 49. 

in dandling it on her arm, and being 
delighted to receive the baby-compliments of 
her friends, who, of course, never fail to 
find considerable likeness between its chin 
and that of the sire And as for the eyes, 
" there is the mother all over in them." 
Byron has an exquisite passage respecting 
the mother and her infant : — 

The wife 
Blest into mother, in the innocent look, 
Or even the piping cry of lips that brook 
No pain, and small suspense — a joy perceives 
Man knows not, when from out its cradled nook 
She sees her little bud put forth its leaves. 

The age when a child is both interesting 
and beautiful, is mostly between three and 
four. It is now that the miniature of life 
begins to develop a definite trace of feature 
and of grace — that the eye is glassed with 
the young beam of intellect ; and that the 
tongue, like a rapid stream, prattles away in 
voluble but indistinct utterance. Yonder, 
on a sunny slope, is a curly-pated urchin, 
frolicking about in the glittering grass — now 
chasing a butterfly, and now his own 
shadow ; blowing a " pussy-cat" in the air, 
and then lying on the grass, to eye the 
heavens, and wishing for a pleasant ride 
on the back of those dolphin-figured clouds ! 
Let us call the chubby rogue to us, and 
survey his face and form.* 

Well, here he is, dressed in a Lilliputian 
surtout, which is girt with a belt, and looks 
quite warlike. The collar is open at the 
neck ; and reveals the unconscious swell of a 
bosom, pure as the " unsunned snow." 
What juvenile nobleness — what an innocent 
hardihood there is on that white brow, 
where the wild ringlets dance about in 
clusters, like grape-bunches on a windy day ! 
Upon its sleek surface, the veins may be 
traced meandering along their course, and 
carrying, in their silky tubes, blood, fresh 
and vigorous as joy. Who shall describe that 
laughing pair of eyes ? There is in them 
a glitter of pleasure and purity — a soft, con- 
fiding expression, rolling across their azure 
orbs — that no pen can picture. Who shall 
define their flash of astonishment, when the 
glories of Nature first open on their view ? 
their timid glance of awe, when the ocean 
first heaves its myriad hillocks before the* ? 

How truly beautiful are the lips of chil- 
dren ! A host of smiles seems nestled there; 
and when they expand, and disclose the 
ivory array just peeping up behind them — 
there is something almost beyond expression 
playing around them. But if a stranger can 
find a pleasure in looking on the little por- 

* I am of course treating of children dressed 
as they ought to be dressed. I speak not of the 

deformities of modern times — those 
" apologies" for human figures. 

Vox. IV.— 11. 





traiture of a man, what is the pure and deep 
delight of the mother when it is tripping 
along by her side, holding her finger and 
pouring out its pretty babble ! How exqui- 
site, to her eyes, is the dawn of mind, daily 
emerging, and developing itself in a thou- 
sand artless and importunate queries ! And 
those who have not the happiness to be 
parents may imagine something of the feel- 
ing which glows through a father's bosom, 
when his child is standing between his 
knees, patting its tiny hands, shaking its 
ringlets, and lisping out sundry delicious 

At these moments, how fondly he glances 
from the mother to the child, and then, in 
prophetic visions, beholds the future career 
of his darling boy ! Alas ! those visions are 
not unclouded. 

Anguish must riot in that guileless breast ; 
many a tear must quiver down that cheek 
of purity, ere the boy shall ripen into the 
man. Still, the same viewless hand that 
has steered the father onward through life, 
may extend its guidance to the son. He 
may one day be a father, and, like himself, 
be musing on his merry-eyed boy ! Hope 
brightens away the gloom of fancy, and the 
translated feelings of his heart, at this 
moment, are — 

Hail to this teeming stage of life ; 
Hail, lovely miniature of life ! 
Lamb of the world's extended fold ; 
Pilgrim of many cares untold ! 
Fountain of hopes, and doubts, and fears ; 
Sweet promise of ecstatic years ! 
How fondly could I bend the knee 
And turn idolator to thee ! 

Did my reader ever seat an infant on his 
knee, and tell to its delighted ear some mar- 
vellous tale ? It is one of the loveliest sights 
in the world to mark the fixed attention of 
its eye, the drooping lip, and the pensive 
gravity of its manner; while the wondrous 
deeds of a giant-killer, or of some other 
tremendous personage that figures away in 
paint and print, are waking childish fancies 
into fears. By-the-bye, if mammas will 
condescend to take counsel in the flagellat- 
ing department, an engaging story, in stormy 
or sullen hours, may very beneficially be 
substituted for that manual process which is 
so dishonorably affecting— so revolting to 
humanity ! 

How indistinct and imperfect are our 
recollections of babyhood ! When we 
attempt to retrace the incidents of that 
period, we lose ourselves in a maze of asso- 
ciations and remembrances. "Lis like look- 
ing from a mountain-top over the misty vale 
below. There are numberless objects before 
us ; but they are only to be discovered in 
parts. We are dazzled with indistinctness ; 
and indeed it may almost be doubted whether 

we have any real recollections of what we 
were in the earliest bloom of childhood. We 
are accustomed to observe the habits of 
children around us ; and therefore naturally 
conclude they are but such as ours were in 
their stage of pigmy existence. Yet can we 
well remember the time when we were fond of 
dabbling in a puddle, or putting a shell to 
our ear, and listening to its sea-roar ! We 
love, too, to fancy ourselves humming away 
at a sunny window — riding a family dog 
down the green-plotted garden, or creeping 
along to put salt on sparrows' tails. All 
this, ridiculous as it now is, frequently sug- 
gests itself to our memories, when we survey 
the revelries of children, and seem to recol- 
lect our feats and adventures. 

The most important day that I can remem- 
ber of my childhood, is that on which I was 
breeched- I perfectly recollect, that I 
thought myself as mighty a personage as 
the Emperor Fum himself. With what 
imperial glances I surveyed my little shape- 
less Tom Thumb body, now for the first 
time bagged in manly trousers. No lignum- 
vitoe peg-top, spun by a clever hand, ever 
reeled about in such a giddy delirium as I 
did this day ! How magnificent was the 
middle row of glittering buttons on my 
waistcoat ! What a fine thing it was, that I 
should be able to climb a knotty tree, and 
poke myself through a binary hedge without 
the awful sound of torn petticoats ! I re- 
in ember wellbeing called into the parlour, 
and turned almost topsy-turvy for the grati- 
fication of friends who were anxious to 
compliment me on my "first appearance" 
in breeches ! 

I should like to see an able analysis of a 
baby's mind, — if mind it may be called. It 
is a subject of considerable interest ; and 
one that frequently leads to many absurd 
speculations about materialism. One thing 
seems evident : that for a month after an 
infant's birth there is scarcely any mind in 
it. That which prompts its piping cry is 
mere instinct ; and when the appetite is 
satisfied, it relapses into a dozing state, a 
senseless helplessness. It is almost on a 
level with an automaton. By degrees, how- 
ever, the visage begins to clothe itself with 
the light of life. The eye appears capable 
of distinguishing an object, and betrays a 
consciousness of terror or delight ; while the 
outstretched hand, together with a plaintive 
wail, explain its desire for an object.* At 
last, the voice is enabled to vent itself in 
words ; the feet begin to walk ; the memory 
awakens ; and something like a mind is dis- 

* For the occasional development of the 
natural affections in all their purity and intensity, 
at a very early period of life — see an article en- 
titled "A Child's Heart," in Volume III., 
page 209. 



covered in the child. Thus mind and body 
seem intimately and mysteriously connected 
with each other. Time is requisite to ripen 
the former, and to. strengthen the latter. 

Mimicry and curiosity are strongly exhi- 
bited in the habits of children. The imita- 
tive faculty is developed before articulation 
is perfect; and it might make a stoic 
smile to observe the puny but ardent efforts 
of an infant, to imitate any manual manoeuvre 
it beholds while throned on the nurse's arms. 
When the infant has grown into the child, 
mimicry becomes stronger than ever. What 
presumption does a little rogue display on 
a rocking-horse! He has seen a picture 
of Wellington on his charger — and why 
should he not sit like him, when straddling 
on a painted piece of wood ? Papa plays a 
popular air, to please his son, on the flute. 
Just leave that son, who is barely two feet 
high, in the room ; and you will presently 
hear him sputtering away, and imitating 
" Pop goes the Weazel" in most laborious 

If there be any danger in imitating its 
elders, it generally happens that the child 
is the more anxious for rivalship. Nothing 
but the actual endurance of some pain or 
punishment will vanquish its self-will. W T hat 
a grand sight it is to see a " great boy" 
divide a pop-gun ftick into two parts by one 
cut! The child must mimic him. He 
obtains the knife and the stick — and chops 
half a ringer off. But ere this, papa has 
displayed a pistol. What an admirable — - 
what a delicious trick it will be, if his son 
(affectionately christened " Sly- boots") can 
pop one of those "funny things," the pistols! 
If papa has any brains, he will lock his 
pistols up, or he may be saluted with a 
leaden pill in his stomach on some inauspi- 
cious morning; or perhaps see his "darling 
William" meditating over "dear Emily," to 
whom he has unfortunately paid a similar 

Of childish curiosity, what might not be 
written ! And how they puzzle us, too ! 
They cannot see, in their innocence, why 
certain questions should not be asked; 
whilst we, in our craftiness, see every reason 
why they should not be answered. The 
child " smells a rat," and soon becomes as 
" cunning 1 ' as we are. Children, now-a-days, 
are tutored in deception from their very 
cradle ; and are industriously taught that 
" innocence" is a vice. When we were 
young, we were told that we were "no- 
body." We believed it, Tell our children 
this, now ! 

But curiosity, which is so strongly exem- 
plified in children, ought rather to be en- 
couraged than punished. Sometimes, it must 
be granted, curiosity leads to burnt thumbs, 
frizzled hair, and wet shoes. But, against 

all this, we may balance the daily improve- 
ment it occasions. It is highly interesting 
to watch a child anatomise a toy, push his 
pin-fingers into a flower, or examine the 
inside of a box of bells. How eagerly he 
scrutinises a stray button ! How rapturously 
he unravels the wiry entrails of a pad, and 
(barbarous little knave !) dissects the villain- 
ous wasp that has just stung him ! But, if 
you wish to feed his curiosity to the utmost 
— if you do not regard a few pounds for 
enjoying the spectacle — give the child your 
watch, and tell him to serve it as he pleases. 
What a cunning spark will dance in his eyes 
at the sight of it ! see with what joy he puts 
it to his ear — tick ! — tick ! — tick ! — uncom- 
monly strange ! Where does that "tick" 
come from ? Presently, you will observe 
him in great trouble to uncover the lid — 'tis 
done! See what rapture plays over the 
child's countenance, now the inside of the 
watch is bared to his view ! His gaze of 
surprise would puzzle any painter of the day 
to represent it on his canvass. But, as I said 
before, you must not wonder if your watch 
is presently anatomised ! 

Fox gave an exquisite sample of his 
benevolent mind, when he quoted to Dr. 
Parr, who frowned away two children from 
their innocent gambols — 

" Et puer es ; nee te quicquam nisi ludere oportet; 
Lude ; decent annos mollia regna tuosque." 

It is no wonder that Fox felt a passing 
pleasure in observing a couple of urchins 
engaged, heart and soul, at play. In truth 
it is a pretty spectacle. Indeed, we may get 
a glimpse of the future man by marking the 
child when he trundles his hoop, or giggles 
at a game at puss in the corner. The fear- 
less tone of joy, the giddy laugh which 
hurries away on the breeze, or the undisguised 
frown of displeasure, and the clinched hand 
upraised — all are characteristics by which a 
spectator may venture to determine how the 
man would act ; what energies he will reveal 
in pleasure or in woe. 

It is a good omen, when a child plays with 
spirit and venturesome vigor. He will here- 
after enter into the game of life with as much 
earnestness as he engages in a game of 
marbles We all remember how a celebrated 
Grecian, when a hoy, threw himself before 
an approaching wagon rather than have the 
marbles disturbed in the "pound." The 
same dauntlessness marked his career to the 
grave. On this account, it is injudicious in 
parents to birch their children for mishaps 
which take place in the heat of play. They 
should not regard a few uncrowned hats, 
unseated trousers, or rent pin-befores. 
Children ought not to be brought up as if 
they were made of plaster-of- Paris, or as if 
a winter's gust would blow them to pieces. 
Let them be permitted to climb, ride, swim, 



and — fight (and bravely too), when their 
" honor " is in peril. A boy who will not 
doff his coat, and marshal his fists on such 
an occasion, will grow up a milk-livered man. 
I know that tender mothers will shake their 
heads at me for patronising infant pugilism ; 
it is so "low" — so " dangerous " — so " un- 
genteel " — " teaches such bad habits." This 
is all moonshine and vapor — worse than sour 
caudle. As if two little fellows, with fists 
about the size of walnuts, could do them- 
selves any serious mischief! As if there 
were any evil in learning self-defence and the 
laws of honor ! 

We have omitted an extremely pretty sight 
among the sports of children — a child at play 
with a kitten. The latter, I take it, is in 
itself a most poetical object, when pouncing 
on a fly, playing leap-frog with a sun-beam, 
or circling about and snapping at its own 
tail. But when accompanied by a little 
child, the unison of simplicity and friskiness 
is charmingly attractive. The kitten puts 
itself on an immediate equality with the 
child ; bridges its dotted back, whisks its 
tail, and paws and purs, and prances with 
the coyest playfulness imaginable. The child 
coops down before it with eyes in a glitter 
of delight, scratches the board with his 
finger, flickers a tempting slip of tape around 
its head, and, like Lesbia with her favorite 

primum digitum dare appetenti, 
JEt acres solet incitare morsus. 

And this I maintain to be an extremely pretty 

A few more lines touching a subject on 
which half the world are mad — and the re- 
mainder very little better ; and this childish 
chapter shall be concluded. One of the most 
insensate plans in the rearing of children is 
that of harnessing them with the trammels of 
*' education " before they can hardly dis- 
tinguish their nose from their mouth. 'Tis 
enough to make the child sick of the world, 
and die out of spite. Let this be altered, ye 
mammas of old England ! 

Don't seek to place " old heads upon young 
shoulders." It will not do. The brain of a 
child must not be trifled with. Stuff it with 
a Babel fabric of modern science, and it will 
bend, perhaps break, beneath the weight. 
If your child must be a prodigy of wisdom, 
be it so. In later years, perhaps, the arena 
of its showing-off will be a lunatic asylum. 
Nature cannot be outraged without a high 
moral offence being committed. The sin 
will be visited heavily on the parent. 

Let children be children. Watch the bent 
of their minds. Treasure up everything that 
indicates their natural bias. But interfere 
not with their sports and harmless amuse- 
ments. There is plenty of time yet for care 
to be placed upon these innocent brows ; nor 

must those ruddy cheeks and laughing eyes 
be too soon rendered " thoughtful." Sorrow 
will come quite early enough ; and bring 
with it its usual train of anxieties indescrib- 

The day is happily gone by, for children to 
be brought in after dinner to go through 
sundry recitals of " Turn, gentle Hermit of 
the Dale," &c. Let all other follies and 
" mistakes " become equally obsolete. 
Nature requires — nay insists upon it, that in 
infancy and childhood art must be dispensed 
with, if it be desired that our offspring should 
be " healthy." Therefore, good people, let 
your bairns be "natural." Lay aside A B 
C, till curiosity ask for it. Then will all go 
smoothly and safely. 

If we had fifty of these little " bread-and- 
butter innocents "—which Heaven forefend ! 
— all of them should go tumbling about in the 
bright-haired meads, revelling in goose- 
berries, currants, elicampane, — and laughing 
their very hearts out in an overflow of 
Thus endeth this "Chapter on Little 



" Nil clesperandum !" 

Let us not be cast down by the hand of despair, 
Nor picture the future with sorrow and care ; 
The heart that makes sorrow or sadness its guest, 
Expels those kind feelings it ought to love best. 

Oh, why should we doubt, though the sun for a 

Withdraw from our presence his bright happy 

smile ? 
We yet have the joy that contentment bestows, 
And the pleasure that ever from gratitude flows. 

The sweet tones of Friendship still fall on the ear, 
Believing from sorrow the heart they would cheer ; 
And who would in doubt and despondency mope, 
When a path lies before us enlivened by hope ? 

Hope smiles kindly on us when summer is gone, 
And hails the bright buds as the spring-tide draws 

on ; 
It beams on all nature, o'er forest and plain, 
And guides the brave ship as she rides o'er the 

The poor little bird, when deprived of its nest, 
Commences again with an increase of zest; 
Again and again it completes it with care, 
And dies from fatigue, ere it yields to despair. 

Then be not cast down, nor give place unto sorrow, 
Contentment will lessen the cares of the morrow ; 
With Faith for our guide we need never be sad, 
Whilst gratitude makes the heart merry and 





BY P. J. GALL, M.D. 

(Continued from Page 106.) 

Let us now proceed with another branch of 
our interesting Inquiry : — 

Are our Actions uncontrollable by reason 

of our Propensities and our Faculties 

being innate ? 

What I have now said on moral liberty, proves 
how far I am from maintaining the uncontrol- 
able character of our actions. It is not because 
those who accuse me of this absurdity do not 
understand my principles; neither will I say 
that it is through ignorance, or through piety, 
that they have assumed so bitterly the character 
of censors of toy doctrine. No ; let us leave it to 
posterity to do justice to their motives and in- 
tentions, and let us pursue our own task of recti- 
fying erroneous ideas. 

Professor Ackermann of Heidelburg, whom my 
adversaries in Germany have adopted as their 
leader, and whom my adversaries in France have 
faithfully copied, has directed himself with a sus- 
picious animosity against the innateness of the 
moral qualities and intellectual faculties. If these 
dispositions are innate, said he,we have done with 
moral liberty ; our actions are inevitable, and 
malefactors of all kinds have gained their cause. 
Observe to what means he has recourse to prove 
this consequence. 


" An organ is the real representation of the 
faculty itself The organ being given, its action 
is so likewise. A muscle which contracts is a 
different muscle from one which is extended. 
This is the true definition of an organ ; but it 
cannot be adapted to the trash of Dr. Gall, since 
he would be obliged to say, that the organs being 
given, their peculiar action is so likewise, which 
annihilates the liberty of man." 


All the objections of Ackermann turn upon the 
same false definition of organ, and I should be 
almost ashamed to regard them as worthy of the 
least attention, if they had not found so many 

If the organ and the manifestation of its 
functions are the same thing, the organ cannot 
exist, unless its function takes place, and the 
agent must disappear every time the function 
ceases ; consequences which Professor Acker- 
mann himself derives immediately from his defi- 
nition. Thus, not to lose an organ, we must 
keep them all in eternal activity, together ; we 
must always, and at the same time, taste, smell, 
hear, look, touch, run, sing, dance, speak, eat, 
think, learn by heart, judge, will, &c. In sleep, 
all the organs of animal life would disappear. 
Who does not see the absurdity of Ackermann's 
definition, and, consequently, the absurdity of his 
whole argument? 

I call an organ, the material condition which 
renders possible the exercise or the manifestation 
of a faculty. According to this definition, it 

may be conceived that no exercise of a faculty 
is possible without an organ, but that the organ 
may exist without the faculty to which it belongs, 
being put in exercise. 

Professor Ackermann will have it, that men 
cannot refrain from doing things, for which they 
have received material conditions or organs. 
He does not perceive that he contradicts himself. 
According to him, the cochlea of the ear is the 
organ of music ; according to him, too, the 
thalami nervorum opticorum (couches optiques,) 
and well-organised senses are the organs of the 
imitative arts ; he likewise maintains that the 
organ of painting is a practised eye. Now, if it 
be true that no organ can exist without action 
and exercise, it follows that every man and every 
animal which has the cochlea in the ear, must 
perform or compose music ; that every man and 
every animal possessing the thalami, and senses 
well organised, must be skilful in the imitative arts, 
and that every, man and every animal having a 
practised eye, must constantly be engaged in 
painting. I shall not remark how singular it is, 
to hear it said that we can acquire an organ, to 
those who pretend to understand thoroughly the 
true principles of the physical organisation. 


§77. "When the organ becomes atrophous, 
the faculty of the aptitude which has existed by 
this organ, immediately ceases. This, experience 
teaches us. A musician of the greatest powers, 
if he does not cultivate music, loses the faculty of 
perceiving and producing tones ; the painter 
loses his talent when he no longer exercises it. 
This is what will hold true of all the organs of 
the animal body. The muscles of an individual, 
obliged by disease to remain a long time stretched 
on the bed, become atrophous, and the faculty of 
motion diminishes in the same proportion. The 
eye becomes atrophous in the darkness of the 
prison,»and the faculty of seeing is proportionally 
diminished. What need we more to prove, that 
without a manifestation of the faculty, no new 
organ is produced or exists, and that the dimi- 
nution and cessation of activity, involve the 
wasting and gradual disappearance of the organ ?" 

1 have several times repeated my confession of 
faith ; it is, that the want of exercise may retard 
the activity and the development of an organ. It 
is on this that 1 found the advice to control as 
much as possible, in children, the exercise of 
organs which may become dangerous ; to prevent, 
by this means, the facility of action which would 
be the consequence, and to favor, on the contrary, 
the action of organs whose tendency is advanta- 
geous ; but I have never inferred from this, that 
without some manifestation of the faculty, any 
organ can be produced, or can exist. Men and 
animals bi'ing with them, in coming into the 
world, all the organs of the functions of the 
senses, and even the internal organs which 
Ackermann supposes, such as the organ of will, 
of comparison, of abstraction. It would be diffi- 
cult for him to call in question that we are born 
with eyes and their nerves, with the tongue, nose, 
ears, hands, and with the nerves of all these 
parts, with the great cerebral ganglion, heretofore 
called the thalami ; in fine, with the two hemis. 



pheres of the brain. These parts, therefore, 
exist, and are born previous to all exercise, before 
any manifestation of faculty ; and though so 
many animals remain deaf and blind for several 
days, and new-born infants can neither compare 
nor abstract, yet all their parts tend, by degrees, 
to their perfection, and become successively capa- 
ble of exercising their functions. For the rest, 
one hardly knows how to answer the metaphysics 
of Professor Ackerruann. It would follow, by 
taking his opinions literally, that the atrophy of 
organs is impossible; for if it be true, as he often 
repeats, that the existence of the organ coincides 
necessarily with the manifestation of the faculty, 
it ought to result that the organs, so long as they 
are not violently destroyed by death, are con- 
tinually exercised, and thus preserve their exis- 
tence and integrity. 


§78. " The beautiful hypothesis by which 
Dr. Gall, in the exposition of his doctrine, thinks 
to secure the freedom of man, falls of itself; for, 
as soon as he shows an organ of theft, the being 
in whom he observes it, must be a robber ; and 
not only has an assassin the organ of murder, but 
whosoever has on his cranium the organ of 
murder, must be an assassin. If he says that 
one may have the organ of murder without being 
an assassin, I deny this proposition, because no 
organ can exist without its faculty being mani- 
fested ; if he objects that the manifestation of the 
faculty may be arrested by other organs and 
other actions, I say that in this case the organ 
ought also to waste, and that, consequently, the 
organ of murder should be wanting in him who 
in fact is no assassin." 

§ 79. " It must be confessed that the idea of 
admitting organs without the presence of the 
faculties which they ought to represent, is an 
excellent subterfuge, to escape and to answer all 
the reproaches and all the objections which can 
be made to organology. For, if any one whose 
skull is examined, has the organ of theft, and 
yet is not a robber, it will be said that the organ 
only indicates the disposition, and that the man, 
in not robbing, proves that he has had a good 
education, which has given him the means of 
resisting a violent propensity. If an arrant 
knave has not the organ of theft, the difficulty 
will be got rid of by showing, that respect for 
another's property has been somewhat set aside 
by the preponderating action of the other organs, 
but that one cannot impute this act to the organ 
of theft, which is entirely wanting." 

§ 80. " Dr. Gall has a vast field open before 
him ; he may traverse it with short-sighted 
people, and set aside their objections with extreme 
facility. But he is overpowered in presence of 
the true observer of nature, whom he resembles 
only by his mask. He must of necessity confess 
that, if there were organs such as he imagines, 
these organs could not exist without a manifesta- 
tion of the faculties ; and that whoever has the 
organ of murder must be an assassin, in the 
same way as whoever never has committed 
murder, cannot have this organ. He must con- 
fess, that such a doctrine, if it could subsist, 
annihilates the freedom of man, and that then 
human society could only be governed by the 

laws of a blind necessity, and not by those of 
reason. But, fortunately, Dr. Gall's doctrine of 
organs is worth no more than his logic, and his 
observations of nature taken in a mass. It is 
evident, that there are not, and cannot be any 
organs like those which Dr. Gall has invented." 


I have combined these three paragraphs, in 
order to comprehend them in a single answer. 
Why do my adversaries, when they pretend that 
I teach the uncontrollable character of actions, 
always speak of the propensity to theft and the 
propensity to murder ? They know, in the first 
place, that by the expression, propensity to mur- 
der, I by no means design an organ which leads 
immediately to homicide, but simply the natural 
propensity to killing other animals, a propensity 
which belongs to every carnivorous animal, and, 
consequently, to man ; they know that it is only 
the degeneration and abuse of this propensity 
which lead to homicide ; they know, also, that 
we admit organs of goodness, as well as moral 
and religious sentiments ; why, then, do they not 
say that men are irresistibly led to commit good, 
moral, and religious acts ? 

Professor Ackermann cannot admit what I 
have always publicly professed, and what I have 
now established in this treatise, on the free use 
of innate qualities, because then, his objections 
would reduce themselves to nothing. I am, 
therefore, going to prove to him, by arguments 
drawn from his own principles of physiology, the 
truth of what I have advanced above. Though 
the will has no immediate influence on the vege- 
table or automatic life, or on the organs of this 
life, such as the heart, liver, kidneys — still Pro- 
fessor Ackermann acknowledges, with all physio- 
logists, that animal life, and the action of its 
organs in a state of health, are almost entirely 
subject to the will. Now, as he establishes the 
principle, that there exists an organ of will 
in the brain, it would result from his own 
avowal, not only that all the actions of animal 
life ought to take place necessarily and always, 
but also, that by a singular contradiction, will 
and irresistibility would exist together ! 

As Professor Ackermann always continues to 
repeat these same objections, I am obliged to hold 
to the same answers. All his arguments have 
no other basis than this false definition : the 
organ is the true representative of the faculty. 
If the organ and the manifestation of its faculty 
were the same thing, and their co-existence 
were necessary, all the organs of animals and 
of man, those of automatic as well as those of 
animal life, would have to be continually and 
simultaneously in action, or an instant of cessa- 
tion of the action would cause them to disappear. 
Where do we see any example of this in nature ? 
Does a muscle disappear because it is inactive ? 
Ackermann answers, that a muscle in motion 
is quite another muscle from that at rest. It 
would result from this reasoning that the same 
foot, according as it walks or remains immove- 
able, would be quite a different foot. 

Let us again reason on the other avowals 
which Ackermann makes. He admits the brain 
as the organ of the soul in general; he estab- 
lishes, besides this, some peculiar organs in the 



brain, for comparison, judgment, and will ; he 
regards the combination of solid and liquid parts, 
the nervous plexuses and the ganglions of the 
chest and abdomen, as being the organs of the 
affections and passions. Now, if the objections 
which he makes to me had any foundation, would 
not these objections be common to his system 
with mine ? Would it not follow, from his 
own confessions, that man ought without ceas- 
ing to compare and judge, to wish, without 
cessation, good and evil, truth and falsehood ; 
to be unceasingly a prey to all affections, and to 
all passions ; and that, when in sleep, in fainting, 
in apparent death, these organs cease to act, all 
should immediately disappear ? 

The idea which Ackermann conceives of an 
organ, is so contrary to good sense , that he has 
not been able to keep himself invariably to the 
same language. He says expressly, in parag. 
77 : " The organ and the manifestation of the 
faculty belonging to it, are the same thing ; 
without exercise, no organ can exist, or be pro- 
duced ; the cessation of action of an organ in- 
volves its diminution, and finally its disap- 
pearance." He also says, in parag. 78, that no 
organ can exist without manifesting its faculty ; 
that the man who has the organ of murder 
must be a murderer, as he who has never 
killed cannot have this organ. Now, what I 
am going to cite, is in direct contradiction with 
what precedes. Professor Ackermann says, in 
parag. 73 : " The manifestation of the faculties 
depends solely, or in a great degree, on perfectly 
developed organs : when the manifestation of the 
faculties does not take place for a long time, the 
organs or the dispositions must successively dimi- 
nish, and in fine, disappear altogether." He 
admits then here, that the birth of organs, their 
existence, and their perfection, are anterior to the 
manifestation of their faculties. He does not, 
then, regard the organ and the manifestation of 
the faculty as being the same thing. It is no 
longer on single organs that he makes the 
faculties to depend — he makes them thus depen- 
dent only in a great degree ; and in order that 
the action may be effected, he admits likewise, 
other conditions. In fine, he confesses that the 
organs diminish gradually, only when they have 
been a long time inactive. 

Ackermann does not content himself with con- 
founding every moment, the total disappearance 
of organs with this diminution ; he also regards 
simple alterations and maladies of organs, such 
as hardening, and paralysis, as being the same 
thing with the complete annihilation of an organ, 
and takes the effect for the cause ; for in these 
cases the cessation of the functions is a conse- 
quence, and not the cause of the malady. 

In fine, all the statements given by Acker- 
mann are false. Without exercise, says he, no 
organ could exist or be produced ; although 
just before, he had said, that they are produced 
and exist a long time without exercise. Are 
not all animals and all children born with 
several organs and senses, though they may not 
have been able to exercise them in the womb of 
the mother. At all periods of life, the organs 
are perfected before they can fulfil their functions 
or be exercised. They exist, then, very well, 
without any exercise, and without fulfilling any 

of the functions which are proper to them. The 
muscles of the external ear are found in almost 
all men ; but since the creation, there have been 
but a small number of individuals in whom they 
have been exercised. It is commonly by chance, 
and after having lived thirty or forty years, 
without using this faculty, that one finds that he 
can move the muscles of the external ear, or the 
skin on the top of the head. Thus, there is 
nothing but error and contradiction in all the 
objections of Professor Ackermann and his parti- 
sans, M. Moreau de la Sarthe, M. Tupper, &c. 

M. Kurt Sprengel, eminent for the services 
which he has rendered to science, has addressed 
some objections to us on the irresistibility of 
actions. I sincerely wish, for the honor of 
German literature, that so distinguished a 
scholar had not spoken of my doctrine, till after 
he had been led to understand its spirit and pur- 
port, otherwise than by rumors. That has natu- 
rally happened to M. Sprengel, which happens to 
every learned man, who wishes to attack a doc- 
trine before understanding it in its whole extent. 
Even while urging the consequences which he 
thinks must flow from this doctrine, he cannot re- 
frain from rendering homage to the truths which 
form its basis. 

M. Sprengel makes the faculties of the soul and 
mind depend in part on the brain, in part on the 
temperament. He extols the advantages of the 
mind, when it inhabits a healthy body. He ac- 
knowledges, as we all do, that health is necessary, 
in order that the functions of the mind may be duly 
performed. Too great irritability, he says, has for 
its consequences erroneous judgments, an ardent 
imagination, a faithful memory, a refining spirit, 
irresolution, inconstancy, profound sadness, and in- 
ordinate gaiety. The voluptuous character of the 
fair sex depends on the delicacy of their physical 
constitution : the soft temperament produces a 
feeble but sure memory, an indolent conception for 
love and hatred ; a dry temperament gives, on the 
contrary, many errors, a durable memory, attention 
to a single object, an imagination often overflow- 
ing, and very lively affections of the soul. 

This last and ancient error has maintained itself 
till now, among all the physiologists : all continue 
to speak of the different qualities of the mind and 
soul which must result from such or such a tempera- 
ment. The most recent physiologists have no 
scruples in advancing that the man endowed with 
a sanguine temperament may in vain wish to re- 
nounce the pleasures of the senses, to have fixed 
and durable tastes, to obtain by profound medita- 
tion the most abstract truths : controlled by his phy- 
sical propensities, he will incessantly be brought 
back to the pleasures he avoids, and the inconstancy 
to which he is destined. 

These assertions are repeated from one age to 
another, without ever asking or examining whether 
they are proved by constant experience. What is 
certain, is, that this doctrine establishes at once 
the innateness of the faculties of the soul and 
mind, and the dependence of their exercise on ma- 
terial conditions. Whether these conditions all 
reside in the brain, or whether they are dispersed 
through the whole body, in the viscera, in the 
nervous plexuses, in the blood, or in a nervous 
fluid, — they are, nevertheless, material conditions, 
which hold the manifestation of the moral qua- 



lities and intellectual faculties in their depen- 

Yet, though M. Sprengel regards the properties 
of the soul and mind, as consequences of the 
harmony of the solids, and the combination of 
the fluids, he nevertheless accords to man a free 
will, and says expressly that one need only blame 
himself, if he be led away by his temperament. 
Why, then, not be satisfied with my asserting also, 
that man has only himself to blame if he follows 
the impulse of his organs ; and that I believe with 
St. Augustin, that God, in giving the power, does 
not impose any necessity.* 

* It is a scriptural as well as a philosophical 
doctrine, that man possesses no power of his own 
creation ; that he is dependent for all power upon 
the Deity. If man received from the Deity only 
the power to act, and not the power to will, the 
power of divine origin is made subservient, to the 
human power. Infinite wisdom and power are 
absolute causes ; and we can as readily conceive 
of an effect without a cause, as we can understand 
a cause as not necessarily producing its legitimate 
effect.— Ed. K. J. 


I need not token-flowers to tell 

How deeply dear thou art ; 
Still on mine ear thine accents dwell, 

Thy virtues in my heart ; 
Thy beauty floats before mine eyes, 

In soft, celestial light ; 
Alike at orient day's uprise 

And pensive shut of night. 

'Twas autumn — and the redbreast lulled 

With song the fading bowers, 
When for my hand thy fingers culled 

These wan and withered flowers. 
Fresh were they then; but, as I gaze 

The shrivelled blossom's o'er, 
The mountain peaks are grey with haze, 

And gleams the snowy moor. 

The clouds of doubt between us rolled, 

In shadows passed the day ; 
But, like a star, thy love consoled 

My spirit with its ray ; 
For through the tempest and the night 

That beam was duly shed, 
To cherish with its steadfast light 

The hope which else had fled. 

Oh ! hallowed, Heavenly to my view 

Is every gentle scene 
Where thy fair foot hath brushed the dew 

From off the daisied green ! 
Thy love, thy loveliness, thy worth, 

To me seem blessings given, 
To show my soul how things of earth 

Can raise its thoughts to Heaven ! 

Farewell ! thou shalt not be forgot, 

My beautiful, Mine Own ! 
Oh ! may the sorrows of our lot 

Bow down my head alone ! 
And these dried flowers, which, given to me, 

Were moist with morning rain, 
Shall bloom of thee, and breathe of thee, 

Until we meet again ! Q. 



[Continued from Page 109.) 

Let me begin to-day, my good friend, by 
asking you, confidentially — " Do you love roast 
pork ? " [Alas, no ! or rather, good Fino, it 
liketh not us. We never eat it.] If you don't, 
don't 11 "I believe you, my boy!" It is a 
delicious luxury either for dog or man . A boiled 
leg of pork and pease-pudding, too — that is not to 
be sneezed at, at least not by me. 

But I am not at all particular ; and as for vege- 
tables, I like them passingly well. I should not 
object to dine any day upon a neat little bit of 
streaky bacon and some tender Windsor beans ; 
nor have I any disrelish for a little morceau of 
fat, more or less. Indeed, I think every part of 
the flesh of that very improperly despised animal 
— a pig, is delicious. 

In my country, Mr. Editor, we call this animal 
a " Cayon ; " and what better sport than hunting 
a pig ? especially if you meet with a long, lanky 
animal that can run veil. How many have I 
chased in my time ! Sometimes I have really 
mistaken them for a " gazelle ; " so sleek and. 
graceful are they ! We do not, in my country, 
admire the fat, round, plump, comfortable-looking 
Chinese breed, but we prize those most which 
nearest approach the tournure of a greyhound 
(mind, I speak generally, Mr. Editor). I grant 
the Chinese breed is occasionally met with, and 
that it is also much valued by its owner ; but our 
oon paysan prefers his " Cayon " of the lanky 
breed. J don't refuse a bit of pork, even though 
it has never been cooked at all. I think it excel- 
lent when raw. It was my greedy brother Carlo 
who first gave me this taste. He had a wonderful 
fancy for uncooked pork, and he did not care how 
he got it. Entre nous, he was a sad thief ; and 
at the risk of my life I was obliged to accompany 
him on his foraging expeditions. I blush to say 
it, but having once yielded to temptation, I soon 
became as great an adept as himself ! 

But these are sins of my youth, Mr. Editor ; 
and therefore must not be handled with too much 
severity — especially as I am now an old dog, and 
could look at a leg of pork with the greatest 
complacency. It wordd be unwise, however, to 
tempt any other dog but myself too much. But 
now to my story. I forget now what brought it 
back to my memory ; but it made me laugh so 
much, that I determined to brush up my memory 
and send it to our Journal. 

You must know that my brother was never 
happy unless he was in mischief. The scrapes he 
sometimes got me into are quite shameful to think 
of. I have often thought, if it had not been for 
his bad example, and his irresistible comic ways 
in persuading me to join him in all his mad pranks 
(to say nothing of his catching me by the ear, and 
making his teeth gradually meet, in case I took 
too long a time to deliberate before deciding), that 
I should have been a perfect model of polltesse 
and elegance. However, I am again digressing ; 
and that will not do. It so chanced that there 
was a worthy " Vaudois " wine-merchant, byname 
G. His vaults and offices were on the Place St. 
Francois. He had travelled a great deal over 
Em*ope ; and he had also visited Egypt, Syria, &c. 



Ho had been at Jerusalem as well as London. He 
was also a very kind-hearted, liberal man ; indeed 

such a man as you seldom meet with. He was, 
however, rather too fond of testing the quality of 
his own merchandise. He was married to an 
English lady, now living ; and having amassed a 
considerable property (.more than he required in 
his business), he purchased, many years ago, an 
extensive country-house and farm at " Cour," 
close by where my old master lived. This he 
named after his " littlo wife," as he used (and 
certainly very correctly) to call her. She was 
indeed a little body ! 

There were extensive fields, vineyard, gardens, 
farm-yard, every description of stabling and out- 
houses, greenhouse, &c. Also two large dwelling- 
houses, one of which he occupied himself, and the 
other he used to let furnished, whenever he had 
the opportunity. Among the sundry appurte- 
nances to this estate, was a capital range of pig- 
sties, occupied by sundry fine porkers. I should 
say that, properly managed, the farming would 
have been as profitable as the wine department ; 
but my friend was too liberal, and perhaps the 
wine trade was too alluring. He also had it all 
his own way ; there being no rival neai'er than 
Geneva, where resided a certain Mr. A. Now 
there was a certain tacit understanding between 
them that they should not poach upon each other's 
grounds. Moreover, Mr. G. could " spek won 
leetle bit Anglish ; " and his favorite expression 
was " Hang it, Sare ! " Indeed he could scarcely 
utter a dozen words in English without the favo- 
rite " Hang it, Sare!" 

At his well-stocked cellar at St. Francois, you 
might procure every sort of wine ; including some 
capital port, sherry, and Madeira (at least, so I 
have heard old Bombyx say) ; also Barclay's and 
Guinness's stout, Scotch ale, &c. &c. Many a 
time I have been up into the little bureau at St. 
Frangois, with my master, to order some stout 
and wine ; but Mr. G. would never let you go 
till you had taken two or three glasses of sherry, 
or else a refreshing glass of porter, which, to an 
Englishman abroad, is really a treat. He had also 
a supply of Cheshire and North Wiltshire cheeses ; 
and in the winter, once a week, he received a 
supply of soles and oysters. So you may imagine 
he was greatly patronised by the English. 

If you said to this worthy on leaving his bureau, 
" Don't forget my stout, G.," he would reply, — 

" No, Sare ! Hang me, Sare, you shan't have 
any, Sare. Hang it, Sare, — you shan't have it, 
Sare, before you get home. I shan't send it, 
Sare, directly. No, Sare." 

" Bon jour, G." 

" Bon jour, Sare. Let me give you one, two 
glass more ale, Sare; this warm weather, Sare. 
Hang me, Sare, — it do you very much good, Sare!" 

However, it was at his country-house that I was 
most familiar, and, as G. had a beautiful little 
spaniel, called " Jack," given to him by an 
English nobleman who once occupied his country 
house (Lord D., now no more), and a large 
sporting dog, named " Nero," I and my brother 
were excellent friends there. Besides, the farm- 
yard and out-buildings were excellent places for 
sport, and we were there quite " at home." More- 
over, do what we would there was never a cross 
word; it was only: — " Hang me, Sare! if you 

arc not the funniest dog I ever saw, Sare ! " 
Sometimes we invited ourselves to breakfast with 
him and his two dogs, and about fifteen eats. 

" Yes, Sare. Hang me, San; ! I am very fond 
of cats, Sare!" One cat would jump on his 
shoulder, another on his knee, and another on the 
table, with her pretty head in the milk-pot. 
Presently Mrs. G. would come in, with a nice 
little bit of cold pork ; and while G. was playing 
with the cats, and his card sjwsa was gone to 
fetch the mustard, " Carlo" slipped off with the 
pork, and we would quietly enjoy it under a fine 
pomegranate tree in the garden. 

On Mrs. G.'s return—" Well, where's the 
pork ?" " I have no seen no pork, my dear ; " and 
then, suspecting all was not right, he would look 
about, and find myself and my brother, with 
scarcely anything but the bone remaining. In- 
stead of a good sound thrashing, it was only, 
" Hang me, Sare, you are two impudent dogs. 
What you mean, Sare, to come and eat my dejeune? 
I shan't stand it, Sare." 

Another bit of pork was produced, and G. 
went back to his breakfast, as usual, full of good 
humor. One day we played him a shameful trick ; 
but nothing put him out of his way. He had just 
been killing a couple of fine porkers, and " Carlo" 
had seen them — so plump, and white, and tempt- 
ing, there was no resisting it ; and so we deter- 
mined to have our share. Now this was an 
abominable shame on our part ; for G. was 
a most excellent neighbor, and never killed 
a pig without bringing a small joint as a 
present to Bombyx, and some sausages that Mrs. 
G, had made herself. But " Carlo" had resolved 
to have a bit of this pork, and that coute qu'il 
coute. I demurred, and refused to join in such a 
rascally adventure, whereupon he gave me a 
savage gripe on the hind leg ; but I was as 
quick as he was, and catching him by his stump 
(I can scarcely call it his tail, for from his battles 
and squabbles with other clogs, his caudal appen- 
dage was anything but a gentlemanly one, and I 
should have been ashamed to own such a thing) I 
soon made him loose his hold. After having 
allowed myself to be persuaded to " let go," off we 
sallied ; and having inspected the pork, decided 
upon a prime side which was evidently intended 
to appear at G.'s breakfast-table, (during the 
winter) in the shape of nice grilled bacon. So 
Carlo, seizing it by one corner, and I by the 
other, we watched our opportunity ; and dragging 
it unnoticed through the farm-yard, got safely 
into the field. Here we rested awhile, and seeing 
the coast clear, we started again and got it safely 
across two large fields, close up to the road. Here 
a very high close-set hedge stopped our further 

" Bother it !" said Carlo, " I think we must take 
it through Pere H.'s field. His gate is 
usually open, and then we can get out. This was 
luckily accomplished without a very great loss of 
time, and we now had only to drag it along the 
side of the hedge till we got opposite Bombyx's 
residence. Here we also arrived safe and sound. 
Now came the difficult part — to land it safely 
inside. To ring at the bell and get the gate 
opened, we dare not. 

" I have it !" said Carlo. "We can't leap up 
the wall with it, but I see how it is to be done." 



It so happened, there was a very large stone 
against an old willow tree close to the wall. We 
placed the pork straight against the stone. 
Carlo sprung on the wall. I got on the stone, 
and raised the pork as well as I could with my 
jaws till Carlo clutched it, first with his paws and 
then with his teeth. I was on the wall in a 
moment, and we lugged it to the top in safety. 

Here our further progress was once more arrested 
by a loud laugh . W e had not been aware that Bom- 
byx was at the drawing-room window, watching 
our proceedings at the top of the wall, and won- 
dering what we were about. Just at this moment 
too, Mr. G. made his appearance at the gate, with a 
nice little basket of sausages as a present for Bom- 
byx. Our ludicrous appearance forced a laugh. 

" Well, hang it, Sare," said G. to Bombyx, 
" you have two funny dogs !" Bombyx was 
vexed, and he was about applying a cane to our 
backs. I was for making a bolt of it ; but Carlo 
stopped on the top of the wall, making the most 
irresistibly comic face. 

" Well, Sare," said G., " pray don't disturb 
them. There is plenty more for us all. They 
take the ' peine' to bring it all this way, Sare, 
they deserve it for their impertinence. My men 
ought to be caned, for not looking sharper ; pray 
let them enjoy it, Sare. They are very queer dogs, 
Sare, to come and run away with a grand coun- 
cillor's (G. was a grand councillor and a magis- 
trate) bit of bacon. Very funny dog, Sare ; very 
funny dog ! My little wife beg me say, she have 
one very particular good little plate of pork for 
supper, Sare ; and some roast pommes-de-terre, 
and she hope you come and eat it. I have 
some capital 1811, and a little old whiskey — 
pourfaire la digestion. 

About half-past eight o'clock, when we knew 
they would be at supper, Carlo said to me — 
" Suppose we go as far as Mr. G.'s, and just see 
what they really have got for supper. We can 
observe all that goes on through the glass door." 
"Well," said I, " I have no objection, provided 
you mean to conduct yourself like a gentleman ; 
for I will not be a party to your rascality any 
longer. I have nearly lost my character through 
your shameful conduct." 

A sulky growl warned me I had better say 
no more. So off we started, and there we found 
Mr. and Mrs. G., and Bombyx. Little " Jack" 
lay by the fire, and half-a-dozen cats were scattered 
in different directions. The supper smelt prime, 
and Mr. G. every now and then held a tempting 
morceau between his thumb and finger, which 
little Jack most gracefully disposed of. " Shoot 
that Jack," grumbled Carlo, "I really can't stand 
it. He's too bad."—" What," said I, " have you 
not had enough to-day ? " — " Hold your noise, 
you stupid fellow, and just go round and see if 
Sophy's at the back-door. We may then perhaps 
squeeze in." 

Glad enough to get away, I slipped quickly 
round. But, bless me ! on my return what do you 
think had happened ? Why, another little tempt- 
ing morceau was held up to " Jacky." Carlo 
could resist no longer ; and with one spring went 
right through the glass door, shivering two large 
panes to atoms, and alighting at the feet of Mr. 
G., who simply exclaimed — " Hang it, Sare, I 
never see such funny dog ! " 

The cats were flying about the room, and 
little "Jack" seemed to think the Prince of Dark- 
ness himself was there, 60 he hid himself behind 
a basket of wood. " Oh, my dear Coco ! " cried 
Mr. G. ; " come here, Captain." (He was 
standing at the top of the curtain.) 

"Very funny dog indeed, Sare," quoth G. 

Just at this juncture I arrived ; and perceiving 
the hubbub, and my stupid brother grinning in 
the middle of it, I must needs follow through 
the aperture he had already made. 

" Upon my waird, Sare, I never see such 
impudent dog. However, Sare, they shall not 
spoil our glass of whiskey ; " and so saying, he 
stopped out the cold by applying the sliding 
shutter to the glass door, and then mixed some 
capital whiskey and water. 

" Eh mon pere ; qu'y a t-il done ! " screamed 
Sophy, who had just been attracted by the 
unusual noise. " Eh les vilains chiens ! Viens, 
ma jolie Co-colette ; qu' est ce que ca veut 
dire ? " 

" Oh, ce n'est rien ma Bonne ; e'est que le 
petit chien a saute par la fenetre. C'est tout. Ap- 
portez nous encore un peu d'eau bouillante, s'il 
vous plait." 

The time however for parting arrived ; and G. 
accompanied us to the gate of his country- 
house, exclaiming, as he wished us good night, 
' ' Very funny dog, Sare ; very funny dog, 
indeed ! " 

Poor G. has been dead some time, to the 
unfeigned sorrow of all the poor in his neighbor- 
hood, to whom he was indeed a friend — a noble 
friend. My old master followed his remains to 
their last home ; and surely, if " charity covereth 
a multitude of sins," poor G. will receive his 
reward. Adieu. Your very jolly old friend, 

Tottenham, September 15. 




As Chloe tripp'd along the grass — 

A pretty laughter-loving lass, 

Love, flying by, her form did see, 

And changed himself into a bee. 

He hover'd fast from flower to flower, 

And into eveiy shady bower, 

And all his little arts did try 

To catch poor Chloe's wand'ring eye. 

Alas ! too soon he did succeed, 
And Chloe ran fast o'er the mead 
To catch the little fluttering thing. 
But, quite regardless of its sting, 
Within her hand she clasp 'd it tight, 
And soon began to scream with fright. 
She'd felt the dreadful, cruel smart, 
By being wounded with its dart. 

She oped her hand — away it went, 

Some other mischief to invent. 

But though the insect flew away, 

The sting remain'd for many a day. 

The moral of our tale is this : 

That though love may at first seem bliss, 

Whatever joy it doth impart, 

It never comes without a smart. 




The sere leaf, flitting on the blast, 
The hips and haws on ev'ry hedge, 
Bespeak Octobbb come! At last 
We stand on Winter's crumbling edge. 
Like Nature's op'ning grave, we eye 
The two brief months not yet gone by. 

At a time when all the world are poured 
out to behold the glories of the year, now 
apparently stationary, and reluctant to bid 
us adieu, — it seems almost, superfluous for a 
pen like ours to attempt to sing of the sea- 
son. We can say nothing worth listening 
to ; though we feel transports unutterable. 
Therefore will our song, we fear, not be a 
very sweet one. 

September has passed. It brought with it 
an agreeable change. For rain, we had sun- 
shine ; for chilling winds, we had a genial 
atmosphere. The wailings at the close of 
August were exchanged for renewed hope. 
The golden grain shook its dewy locks, and 
blushed with its honors thick upon it. A 
glorious sight has it been, to notice its dying 
moments ; as, looking the sun full in the face, 
it fell laughing beneath the sickle. The farmer, 
whilst we now write, has overflowing barns ; 
and though he tries to grumble, he finds it hard 

That the price of " the staff of life " is 
excessive, is, alas ! but too true. Yet is this 
not caused by a scanty harvest. There are 
other reasons for it, which lie beyond the 
scope of our inquiry. In all our rambles 
hither and thither, — we repeat it, — we have 
seen an abundance of everything ; food ample 
both for man and for beast. 

If we were to enter in detail upon our 
enjoyments of the month of August and a 
portion of September, — we should only be 
relating what must be fresh in the feelings of 
most of our readers. The charms of Sep- 
tember are as unutterable in words, as they 
are delightful to experience. The year now 
concentrates all its beauties. Nature loves 
to behold, in one grand view, the past works 
of her delicate hands. Unwilling to let them 
depart, she waits till the very last moment 
ere she lets down the curtain which is to hide 
them for ever from our sight. Nor does this 
curtain drop suddenly. Surely not. The 
descent is gradual ; and as the year decays, 
a million of fond objects linger with us to 
the last. 

Summer still lingers, though its glories fade, 
Still soft and fragrant are the gales that blow; 

The yellow foliage now adorns the glade, 
And paler skies succeed the summer's glow. 

The drooping flowers fade, and all around 
Their scatter'd blossoms wither and decay ; 

But still bright verdure decorates the ground, 
And the sun sheds a soft and silver ray. 

One great drawback to our enjoyment of 
Autumn, is, the oft-repeated sound proceding 
from the murderous gun. In our late walks, 
we have seen many acts of savage butchery 
dealt out upon the unoffending partridge. 
Hunted from morning to night, wounded 
first by one and then by another, — again 
" flushed," and again wounded — this is his 
fate daily. What a day's "sport" for a 
civilised man to boast of ! We carefully note 
the countenances of these butchers as we 
pass, and we blush to think that we are of 
the same race. 

This very day, commences another u battue" 
on the pheasants. We shall now daily see 
registered in the papers, flaming accounts of 
the grand total of slaughtered victims which 
" fell to the gun" of the Hon. Mr. Fi, my 
Lord Fo, and the Marquis of Fum. These 
will be gloated over by the whole race of 
bird-butchers ; and each will strive daily 
(rising early and slaughtering late) to surpass 
his fellow in acts of cruelty. But let us leave 
these blood-thirsty savages, whose sole joy 
seems to consist in the wanton destruction of 

This is just the very time of year for us all 
to be vigorous. The sun shines, gentle gales 
rustle in the branches, the birds in their new 
livery come forth and sing ; the air is bracing, 
and all Nature rejoices. The open fields, 
though bereaved of much of their former 
beauty, yet present sights that are agreeable 
to the eye, and stirring to the imagination. 
The husbandman is already at work, pre- 
paring for the coming year ; and all is bustle 
and activity around us. 

Nor are the hedge-rows devoid of interest. 
The luxuriant blackberry is now seen in 
boundless profusion ; and many are the lads 
and lasses who go forth to gather them. The 
blue sloe, too, is now gracing the hedges with 
its soft tempting-looking bloom, and we see 
the dull bunches of the woodbine, and the 
sparkling holly-berry. The wild flowers are 
departing. A few only remain, — but those 
few, peeping up from beneath the newly-fallen 
leaves, seem to smile at us ere they bid us 
adieu. They are beautiful even in their 

We still behold the butterfly hovering over 
the flowers in the garden, when the sun shines ; 
or basking on the warm wall. He is happy 
to the last. Free from all care, he suns his 
wings, sips his nectar, and is "jolly" to the 
end. No wonder the poet sang, — 

" I'd be a butterfly !" 

The butterfly however, be it said, is rather 
ornamental than useful. We have amongst 
us far too many butterflies ! A-hem ! 

We hardly need remind our friends to 
make the most of this month ; for when it 
has closed upon us, the ensuing prospect 



will be a dreary one. It is now the season 
for walking, rambling, nutting, gipsying, 
frolicking, and universal enjoyment. All now 
must be al fresco. Fires are, as yet, in the 
remote distance. Court Nature in the fields 
and the forests ; and there you will be both 
happy and well. 

The " fall of the leaf is a season which, 
for us, has charms unutterable. We wander 
abroad with an ecstacy of feeling, of which 
we can give no idea. The gradual decay of 
nature is a sight we revel in. We listen to 
the sighs in the trees, we note the murmur 
of the breeze dancing among the leaves. We 
watch the flitting clouds, with a child-like 
fondness ; and we dream pleasingly as we 
behold the rapidly- flying panorama of nature's 
painting. At this season, the sun and the 
clouds cause a change of landscape every 
two or three minutes. 

Autumn is the time when, if ever, we 
mortals are given to thought. There is a 
beauty peculiar to the season that steals 
upon the mind. It invests it with a tender- 
ness and a permanency of impression which 
had not otherwise belonged to it. Our 
autumnal evenings are, in their grey and 
sober tinting, beautiful. In the many- 
colored hues of the trembling foliage, in the 
fitful sighing of the breeze, in the mournful 
call of the wounded partridge or ill-starred 
pheasant, in the soft low piping of our friend 
the robin ; and, above all, in the sweetly 
plaintive warbling of the young thrush, the 
blackbird, and the wood-lark — in all these 
there is a union of sight and sound, which 
can scarcely fail to touch the heart with a 
corresponding sense of pensive pleasure. To 
enjoy this we should, whilst contemplating 
the passing scene, behold the setting sun 
(hitherto shrouded in the gathering gloom) 
gleam a farewell lustre on the fields. It is 
then, perhaps, that our emotions harmonise 
most completely with external nature. 

We must now reluctantly take our leave. 
Ere we again meet our readers, the month of 
November will have come in — ragged in its 
garb, and comparatively barren. But Octo- 
ber, of which a whole month remains to be 
enjoyed, will have gone out with a pageant 
and a feast. 

The woods will have been hung with 
tapestry of all-glorious colors. The dark 
and glossy acorns will have been scattered 
in profusion on the ground. The richly- 
tinted and veined horse-chestnuts will have 
glowed in the midst of their rugged and spiny 
shells, which burst open in their fall ; and 
birds will have been enjoying a plentiful 
feast of beech-nuts in the tree-tops. 

All this yet awaits us ; besides lots of 
rambles by sea and land. And then there is 
" nutting" in the leafy woods, accompanied 
by the girl of our heart; " blackberry-ing" in 

the same sweet company ; and there are 
certain little autumnal visits to pay — all 
most truly delightful. May we, one and all, 
be able to enjoy the bright prospect, and — 

While Autumn strews on every plant " 

His mellow fruits and fertile grain ; 

And laughing Plenty, crowned with sheaves, 

With purple grapes, and spreading leaves, 

In rich profusion pours around, 

Her flowing treasures on the ground, — 

We'll mark the great, the liberal hand, 

That scatters blessings o'er the land, 

And to the God of Nature raise 

The grateful song — the Hymn of Praise. 

May we all be in fine voice — and may the 
echo extend to the ends of the earth ! 



( Continued from Page 110.) 

I AM glad to hear, my dear Mr. Editor, 
from a multitude of quarters, that £ " barked" 
in my last to some good purpose- I agree 
with you that Truth will ever carry all before 

Some persons tell me, that I was too free 
in speaking my mind. Do you think so ? 
[Quite the contrary, " Charlie." When we 
want to cure a wound, we must cut deep. 
Then shall we succeed bravely. Go on, by 
all means.] I confess I have had my cogi- 
tations about it. However, your favorite, 
Shakspeare, has decided the point. Turning 
over a page or two in his charming book, 
yesterday, I read as follows : — 

To be — or not to be ? That is the question, 
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 
Or — to take arms against a sea of troubles, 
And, by opposing, end tbem ? 

End them, of course ! barked I, with all 
the enthusiasm of an ill-used dog ; and when 
I die, I shall stand enrolled in history as a 
canine benefactor to my race. Thus much 
prefatory — now to my narrative. 

Let me see. In my last I told you all 
about the cage in which we were confined. 
In this cage we lived for about three months. 
Hosts of people came to see us, and we were 
much admired. But, malheureusement, not 
being "fashionable dogs" we were not soon 
disposed of. One day, however, a lady (the 
wife of one of London's merchant princes) 
came into the shop to buy a dog, and the lot 
fell on me. The lady pronounced me to be 
affectionate and intelligent. My eyes, I at 
once saw, had won her favor. Beautiful they 
were, of course, and expressive ; for I was a 
"true breed " from the fountain-head. 

Whilst wondering "what next?" and 
scanning my new mistress's countenance, I 
heard the money rattle in her hand. I was 



handsomely paid for ; and gently put into the 
carriage, which, at that time, seemed to me a 
paradise, and its inmates angels. 

All in this equipage was so luxurious ! 
The first thing 1 did was to frisk and jump 
about in an eestacy of joy. It was such a 
change for me, that I felt half mad with 
delight. And then what a seat had I ! A 
rich velvet cushion was provided for me, and 
I found myself side by side with my lovely 
mistress. Oh ! how endearingly she patted 
my head, as she called me "her own pretty 
boy," and lavished on me some thousands of 
caresses ! 

Then her daughter ! What a most charm- 
ing girl she was ! Oh, my dear Mr. Editor, 
how you would have loved her ! She could 
not have numbered more than sixteen sum- 
mers; and what an affectionate soul she was ! 
Heigh-o ! Well ; I will not dwell on the 
subject — but was not I a happy dog? [You 
ought to have been happy, ' ' Charlie . ' ' We h